•   • 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


' 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


IN 

TITIAN'S  GARDEN 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

HARRIET  PRESCOTT  SPOFFORD 


BOSTON 

COPELAND   AND   DAY 
MDCCCXCVII 


Thanks  are  due  for  courtesy  of  republication  to 
the  Messrs.  Harper,  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's 
Sons,  Messrs.  J.  B.  Lippincott  and  Company, 
Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin,  and  Company,  Mr. 
John  Brisben  Walker,  the  Century  Company,  the 
publishers  of  the  Independent,  the  Congregation- 
alist,  and  others. 


COPYRIGHT,  1897,  BY  COPELAND  AND  DAY 


Though  suns  between  us  swing 

And  aeons  roll, 
Ever  to  thee  I  sing, 

Star  of  my  soul ! 

Only  to  name  thee  now, 

In  joy  or  dole, 
Is  singing' s  self,  O  thou 

Song  of  my  soul! 


858484 


CONTENTS 

In  Titian's  Garden 5 

The  Violin H 

Trumpets  in  Lohengrin 1 6 

The  Flight 18 

The  Pines *9 

The  Singing  on  the  River 20 

April  Winds 21 

In  the  Wood 22 

In  Song  Time 24 

Outdoors 27 

Afloat 28 

The  Fire-flies  in  the  Wheat 29 

Midsummer 3 l 

The  Hunt 32 

Off  Breton  Coast  a  Thousand  Years  Ago       .  32 

The  Lamp 34 

The  Tear  Bottle 35 

The  Secret 36 

Bronte 39 

Lament 42 

The  Hour  of  Peace 44 

Mother  Song 45 

On  an  Old  Woman  Singing 46 

The  Stern  Chase 47 

Paradise 4^ 

At  the  Potter's 50 

The  King's  Dust 52 


CONTENTS 

Captive 53 

A  Winter's  Night 53 

Crusaders 54 

In  the  Time  of  the  Aftermath 55 

The  Tryst 56 

The  Story  of  the  Iceberg 58 

The  Making  of  the  Pearl 6 1 

The  Under  Life 64 

The  Story  of  the  Flower 66 

The  Holy  Land 69 

The  Lepers 72 

Song  and  the  Prophet's  Soul 74 

Two  Angels 79 

By  Night 80 

A  Weed        8 1 

Scripture 8j 

Clairvoyance 84 

The  Heavenly  Camp 87 

Equations 88 

The  Star  in  the  East 89 

James  Russell  Lowell 93 

Phillips  Brooks 93 

The  Knight  of  Pentecost 94 

The  Prayer  of  Ibn  Gebirol 97 

The  Wanderers i°° 

The  Tourney IO2 

O  Music i°4 

When  First  You  Went 106 


IN   TITIAN'S  GARDEN 


IN  TITIAN'S    GARDEN 

WHERE  the  sea  with  drowsy  murmur 
Laps  the  marble,  and  full  rosy, 
Far  withdrawn  in  purple  heavens, 
Slopes  of  snow  and  horns  of  silver 
Figure  shining  forms  that  slowly 
Swim  like  giants  flushed  with  sunset, 
Cloudy  swells  from  deeps  of  twilight 
Round  them  tossing,  lies  the  garden 
Where  the  Master  takes  his  pleasure 
When  the  pencil  leaves  his  fingers 
Tingling  still  with  magic  cunning,  — 
While  from  dome  and  campanile 
Wandering  winds  bring  airy  music, 
Showers  of  bell-tones  lightly  falling 
As  the  dusk  falls,  half  caressing, 
Tenderly  like  some  soft  mantle 
Folding  him  in  starry  shadows. 

Still  within  the  spell  of  daydreams, 
Stepping  stately  down  the  stairway, 
Like  some  great  doge  of  his  painting 
Sweeping  out  of  frame  and  panel, 
Moves  the  Master.      And  the  jasmines 

5 


\ 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Blow  their  breath  forth  to  salute  him, 
Lemon  leaves  with  piercing  sweetness 
Touch  and  whisper,  laurels  rustle, 
Cleaving  from  the  carven  satyr 
Towards  him  turns  the  passion-flower. 
All  the  garden  glooms  and  glitters, 
Wine-dark  cup  and  pearly  petal, 
Every  deepest  dye  revealing 
Hid  in  inmost  cell  and  tissue 
To  the  eye  that  searches  sunlight, 
Lord  of  color  that  is  nameless, 
Shut  within  the  ray's  recesses 
For  a  further  finer  vision. 

Here  he  sups  with  Sansovino, 

With  Zuccato,  scheming,  seeing 

For  San  Marco  the  new  marvel 

Growing  like  .a  golden  bubble 

Poised  in  happy  air  above  them. 

Here  the  merry  Aretino 

Breaks  the  flask  and  takes  the  creaming, 

Makes  them  jests  and  sings  them  sonnets. 

And  some  girl  sea-bronzed  and  sparkling, 

On  her  cheek  the  stain  ensanguined, 

Bears  aloft  the  bossy  salver  : 

As  the  innocent  Lavinia 

Brought  them  in  old  days  of  revel 

Fruits  and  flowers  amesh  with  sunbeams,  — 

No  red  burnish  of  pomegranates, 

No  cleft  peach  in  velvet  vermeil, 

No  bright  grapes  their  blue  bloom  bursting, 

6 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Dews  between  the  cool  globes  slipping, 
Dews  like  drops  of  clouded  sapphire, 
But  the  brighter  self  and  spirit 
Glowed  illusive  in  her  beauty  ! 

Out  of  spheres  of  golden  nightfall, 
Melting  skies  in  melting  currents, 
All  along  the  festive  evening 
Come  the  rout  to  Casa  Grande, 
Contarini  and  Cornaros, 
Zios,  Dannas,  gay  and  gallant, 
Many  a  proud  Venetian  noble 
Sword  on  hip  and  chain  on  shoulder, 
Splendid  in  his  cap  and  jewel  — 
Black  the  Ten,  in  awful  presence 
All  unguessed,  behind  him,  flashing 
From  his  pleasure  to  his  prison, 
When  the  torches  quench  them  quickly 
And  the  water-way  is  narrow 
Where  the  treacherous  palace-shadow 
Cuts  the  moonlight  like  a  sword-blade. 
One  great  joy,  a  glorious  phantom, 
One  great  memory,  following  after, 
Red  with  rapture,  trembling,  smiling, 
Bringing  all  of  life  to  blossom, 
Worth  the  dungeon,  worth  the  dagger  ! 

Lute-strings  tinkling,  voices  warbling, 
Stealing  over  gilded  waters, 
Mother  o'  pearl  and  shining  furrows, 
Float  the  gondolas,  and  flocking 

7 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Like  bright  doves  the  gracious  ladies 

Bring  their  homage  to  the  Master. 

How  they  love  him,  how  they  serve  him, 

These  white  women,  hair  all  golden 

Dropping  down  their  snowy  bosoms, 

Clad  in  cloth  of  gold,  and  shedding 

Laughter  as  they  move  about  him  ! 

O'er  the  wall  the  roses  clamber, 

Vagrant  sprays  and  torn  corollas 

That  the  bee  has  robbed  beforetime, 

Telling  of  the  lovely  joyance 

With  the  man  of  ninety  summers,  — 

Every  one  of  all  those  summers 

Like  wide-spreading  flowers  that  open 

Prodigal  their  silken  curtains, 

Each  one  fuller  than  the  last  one 

Of  the  perfume  and  the  honey, 

Of  the  wine  of  life  unwasted. 

Slowly  as  a  dream  fades,  waking, 
Fades  the  flush  along  the  summits, 
And  in  shoreless  floods  the  moonlight 
Washes  all  the  sky  in  silver, 
Washes  all  the  emerald  shallows, 
Lifts  in  light  the  dim  barge  drifting 
To  the  dark  of  San  Michele. 
Far  away  a  voice  is  ringing, 
Sweetness  lurking  in  the  echo, 
Like  the  waft  of  love  forgotten, 
On  a  wind  from  nowhere  blowing, 
When  one  passes  bearing  myrtles. 
8 


IN   TITIAN'S    GARDEN 


So  death  comes  to  Venice, 

The  city  of  dreams, 
We  know  that  hearts  ache  there, 

They  break  there  it  seems. 

Love  burns  like  the  rose  there, 

And  falls  like  its  leaf, 
And  balsams  and  balms  there 

Distil  out  of  grief. 

Bear  they  the  dead  there, 

Or  bear  they  the  bride, 
Splendor  floats  with  them 

Along  the  dark  tide. 

By  noonlight,  by  moonlight, 
By  dawnlight's  soft  hours, 

When  death  comes  to  Venice 
They  hide  it  in  flowers. 

Dies  the  tune  and  dies  the  echo, 

Dies  the  moon's  bloom  like  remembrance 

Falling  from  supernal  spaces. 

Gone  the  lover  and  the  lady, 

Fled  is  all  the  frolic  pageant 

Fleeting  moth-like  down  the  ripple, 

Vanishing  as  sparks  skim  widely, 

Lost  at  last  in  starry  distance. 

Left  alone,  the  mighty  Master,  — 

Who  has  honor  of  all  people, 

Fishing-men  along  Guidecca, 

Dogaressa,  and  donzella, 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Who  has  pope  to  friend,  and  princes, 

Pomp  and  power  before  him  waiting, 

Earth  with  nothing  to  surrender,  — 

Feels  the  world  of  thronging  silence, 

Beckons  the  unseen  about  him, 

Dreams  his  dreams  and  calls  his  phantasms. 

Once  again  fair  Violante 

Leads  him  through  a  land  enchanted. 

Once  again  his  wife  Cecilia 

In  her  smiling  holds  all  heaven. 

Was't  of  old,  or  was  't  this  morning, 

Violet  mists  along  Cadore, 

Almonds  shaking  in  the  sunshine 

Twinkling  webs  of  dewy  sparkles, 

Made  the  day  a  glory  ? 

Softly 

Depth  on  depth  the  summer  shadows 
Open  hollow  after  hollow, 
Bare  a  ruddy  heart  and  give  him 
Marrow  of  strange  tinct  and  secret. 
Overhead  in  fragrant  darkness 
Drooping  boughs  are  bending,  brooding, 
Winds  are  murmuring,  waters  slipping, 
And  a  nightingale  remotely 
Sets  a  sigh  to  singing. 

Clearly 

All  the  joy  of  lovely  living, 
Lust  of  the  eyes,  and  earth's  wide  wonder, 
Pride  of  life  and  bounding  heart's  blood, 
Are  his  birthright  and  possession, 
Beauty,  the  surcharge  of  Godhead, 
10 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 

Brimming  like  the  sea  and  swelling 

For  his  element  and  being, — 

He,  whose  many  years  confirm  him 

That  the  empurpled  dust  had  taken, 

Were  it  something  less  than  precious, 

Primal  shape  and  sumptuous  seeming 

In  no  thought  divine,  and  compassed 

No  informing  fire  of  heaven. 

Listen  —  all  about  him  flowing  — 

Is  it  but  a  fond  remembering  ? 

Melodies  and  voices  mingling, 

Voices  flashing  on  his  fancy 

Wild  white  swans  their  wet  wings  beating 

Far  in  sounding  Istrian  channels. 

Who  are  these,  old  numbers  trolling 

Once  he  sang  in  his  own  heyday? 

Stars  above  in  pallid  places, 

Stars  in  tranquil  tides  below  them, 

What  young  monk  his  grate  regretting, 

What  mad  poet  drunk  with  dreaming, 

Where  the  wide  lagoon  goes  darkly, 

And  the  night  feels  morning  quicken  ! 

Build  up,  build  up  the  mountain  walls, 
The  gleaming  gorges  thick  with  mist, 

The  crags  through  veiling  waterfalls 
Sun-smitten  into  amethyst  ! 

Bring  from  the  far  and  outer  verge, 
With  perfume  on  long  breezes  curled, 

Beauty,  that  deathless  Demiurge 
Through  whom  the  Maker  made  the  world ! 

ii 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Bring  music  of  the  winding  horn, 
And  airy  shapes  of  tender  things, 

And  keep  the  place  where  Love  is  born, 
And  starts  and  shakes  his  purple  wings  ! 

Answering  tones  from  further  outposts, 

Does  he  dream  them  —  does  he  hear  them  ? 

Finer  thrills  of  fainting  music 

Down  full-throated  bells  recurrent, 

In  a  sea  of  silver  clangor, 

Throbbing  far  on  tides  of  morning 

Through  the  dark  rich  prime,  and  swimming 

To  the  measure  of  his  pulses,  — 

Some  high  spirit  bathed  in  heaven, 

Shrilling  his  imperious  gladness, 

Seeing  Venice  on  her  waters 

Like  the  towers  of  that  fair  city 

The  apocalyptic  herald 

Saw,  more  luminous  than  daybreak, 

Hanging  in  the  empyrean. 

In  the  dew  and  the  dark  and  the  coolness 

I  bend  to  the  beaker  and  sip, 
For  the  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  its  fulness 

Is  held  like  the  cup  to  my  lip. 

For  his  are  the  vast  opulences 
Of  color,  of  line,  and  of  flight, 

And  his  was  the  joy  of  the  senses 
Before  I  was  born  to  delight. 

12 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 

Forever  the  loveliness  lingers, 

Or  in  flesh,  or  in  spirit,  or  dream, 

For  it  swept  from  the  touch  of  his  fingers 
While  his  garments  trailed  by  in  the  gleam. 

When  the  dusk  and  the  dawn  in  slow  union 
Bring  beauty  to  bead  at  the  brim, 

I  take,  'tis  the  cup  of  communion, 
I  drink,  and  I  drink  it  with  Him  ! 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 

THE   VIOLIN 

Viva  fui  in  sylvis, 
Dum  vixi  tacui, 
Mortua  dulce  cano. 

ALL  the  leaves  were  rustling  in  the  forest, 
All  the  springs  were  bubbling  in  the  moss ; 
What  light  laughter  where  the  brooks  were  spilling, 
What  lament  I  heard  the  branches  toss, 

Ah,  what  pipings  gave  me  thrill  on  thrill  ! 
All  the  world  was  wild  with  broken  music  — 
I  alone  was  silent,  I  was  still. 

White  the  moonbeam  wove  its  weird  about  me, 

Starshine  clad  my  boughs  with  streaming  flame, 
Mighty  winds  caressed  me  out  of  heaven, 
Storm-clouds  in  a  fleece  upon  me  came, 

Earth's  deep  juices  fed  me  all  my  fill  — 
Strains  swept  through  me  fit  for  sovran  singing  — 
I,  alas,  was  silent,  I  was  still. 

I  was  still,  though  callow  buds  were  swarming, 
Still,  though  sylvan  life  throughout  me  stirred. 
Embassy  though  mine  of  praise  and  passion, 
Melancholy  waiting  on  my  word, 
Inarticulate  those  murmurs  stole! 
What  without  the  rhythmic  thrall  were  transport  ? 
What  were  longing  ?     Silent  was  the  soul. 

When  the  sleeting  rains  fled  far  on  tempest, 

With  the  eyry  rocking  under  me, 
Part  of  the  great  planet  flying  northward, 
14 


THE   VIOLIN 


Star  among  the  stars  I  fain  would  be. 

Wide  upon  the  gale  I  spread  my  plume  — 
Oh,  not  mine  to  burst  in  clamorous  chanting, 
Syllabling  some  eager  song  of  doom  ! 

I  remember  me  of  gladsome  mornings 

Where  the  sun  swept  in  a  quickening  flash 
Down  long  lanes  to  pass  in  glooms  of  verdure, 
While  it  gave  my  stem  a  golden  plash. 

Happy  outcry  made  the  hollows  ring. 
I  had  sung  then  with  the  singing  children  — 
Woe  is  me,  there  was  no  voice  to  sing. 

I  remember  me  of  summer  twilights  — 

Red  the  brand  burned  in  the  smouldering  west, 
While  two  lovers  leaned  on  me  together, 
And  I  felt  their  tremor  through  my  breast. 

Softly,  softly  sighed  the  lonely  thrush 
Till  the  heart  swooned  in  a  joy  of  sorrow  — 
I  could  only  listen  through  the  hush. 

When  the  wanderer  spent  his  soul  with  weeping 

Deep  in  the  long  bracken  at  my  base, 
Low  my  shade  bent  round  him  as  a  covert, 
Wearying  to  whisper  words  of  grace. 
Bitterly  with  grief  acquainted  then 
All  his  sadness  passed  into  my  being, 

Sadness  that  would  never  forth  again. 

Came  the  woodsman  with  his  stroke  and  felled  me  ; 

Strong  suns  sucked  the  life  from  every  cell  ; 
Bending,  purfling,  hearing  unsung  warbles, 

15 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Came  the  craftsman  with  his  cunning  spell, 

Gave  me  flowing  lines  beloved  of  men. 
As  old  kings  in  strange  gums  swathed  and  vested 
I  lay  dead.      What  mattered  singing  then  ? 

Came  the  Master —  drew  his  hand  across  me  — 

Oh,  what  shocked  me,  what  great  throb  of  bliss 
Wakened  me  to  pulse  on  pulse  of  rapture  — 
Soul  my  soul,  I  never  dreamed  of  this ! 

Breath  of  horn  and  silver  fret  of  flute, 
Compass  of  all  nature's  various  voices, 

I  was  singing  —  I  who  once  was  mute  ! 

Winding  waters,  silken  breezes  blowing, 
Fragrances  of  morning,  filled  my  tune, 
Glimpses  of  the  land  where  dreams  are  mantled, 
East  o'  the  sun  and  rearward  of  the  moon, 

Songs  from  music's  ever-swelling  tide, 
Music  beating  up  the  walls  of  heaven  — 
I  had  never  sung  had  I  not  died  ! 


TRUMPETS   IN    LOHENGRIN 

HARK  !  'T  is  the  golden  trumpets  of  the  dawn 
Sounding  the  day  ! 

Music,  O  Music  fain  ! 

From  rosy  reaches  drawn, 
And  fall  of  silver  rain, 

Along  the  call  how  swift  the  sunrise  streams  ! 
Sound,  sound  again, 
O  magical  refrain  ! 
16 


TRUMPETS   IN   LOHENGRIN 


Peal  on  peal  winding  through  the  dewy  air, 
Peal  on  peal  answering  far  off  and  fair, 
Peal  on  peal  bursting  in  victorious  blare  ! 

Sound,  sound  again, 

With  your  delicious  pain, 

O  wild  sweet  haunting  strain, 
Till  the  sky  swell  with  hint  of  heavenly  gleams 
And   the  heart   break   with  gladness    loosed    from 
dreams  ! 

What  buoyant  spirit  breathes  the  breath  of  morn 
And  earth's  delight, 

Trumpets,  O  trumpets  blest ! 
Great  voices,  born 

Of  consecrated  gest, 
Across  the  ramparts  ring  and  faint  and  fail  ! 

O  echoes,  pressed 

On  some  ethereal  quest, 
Touch  all  the  joyance  to  a  tearful  dew, 
With  melancholy  gathering  o'er  the  blue  — 
Infinite  hope,  infinite  sorrow,  too  ! 

And,  heard,  or  guessed, 

Sweet,  sweet,  O  sweet  and  best, 

Fall'n  from  some  skyey  crest, 
O  horns  of  heaven,  give  your  hero  hail, 
Blown  to  him  from  the  Kingdom  of  the  Grail ! 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


THE   FLIGHT 

WHEN   the  great    ice    comes   down    on  the 
river, 

With  the  roar  of  a  mighty  voice  abroad, 
Crying,  "  Deliver  !   O  shores,  deliver  !  " 
The  giant  pines  of  the  island  shiver, 
The  rooted  rocks  of  the  mid-earth  quiver, 
Hearing  and  fearing  the  tread  of  a  god. 

"  Come,"    sung  the  Sea,    "  O  breath  of  my  being, 
Drawn  from  me,  drawn  from  me,  summer  days 

long  ! 

Hill-tarn  and  cavern  too  sombre  for  seeing, 
You  that  have  swung  in  the  sun  shall  be  fleeing  ; 
Now    my    winds   blow,    my   tides   press   to    your 

freeing, 
Urging  and  surging  and  filled  with  my  song!  " 


Green  in  the  moonbeam  it  lay  at  the  singing, 

Silver  with  froth  of  a  frozen  foam, 
Red  in  the  sunrise  its  arrow-flame  flinging, 
Azure  while  over  it  moonlight  was  winging, 
Dark  as  the  midnight  tide  when  it  went  springing, 

Bending  and  rending  went  springing  for  home. 

What    a    great    music    you    heard    through    your 

dreaming 

When  in  a  moment  the  ice  went  free  ! 
Wild  as  the  Valkyr  her  battle-cry  screaming, 
18 


THE   PINES 


With  groaning  and  sighing,  and  ghostly  the  gleaming, 
And  shifting  the  shapes  that  towered   shouldering 

and  streaming, 
Bursting  and  thirsting  and  mad  for  the  Sea! 


THE   PINES 

COULDST  thou,  Great  Fairy,  give  to  me 
The  instant's  wish,  that  I  might  see 
Of  all  the  earth's  that  one  dear  sight 
Known  only  in  a  dream's  delight, 
I  would,  beneath  some  island  steep, 
In  some  remote  and  sun-bright  deep, 
See  high  in  heaven  above  me  now 
A  palm-tree  wave  its  rhythmic  bough  ! 

And  yet  this  old  pine's  haughty  crown, 
Shaking  its  clouds  of  silver  down, 
Whispers  me  snatches  of  strange  tunes 
And  murmur  of  those  awful  runes 
Which  tell  by  subtle  spell,  and  power 
Of  secret  sympathies,  the  hour 
When  far  in  the  dark  North  the  snow 
Among  great  bergs  begins  to  blow. 

Nay,  thou  sweet  South  of  heats  and  balms, 
Keep  all  thy  proud  and  plumy  palms, 
Keep  all  thy  fragrant  flowery  ease, 
Thy  purple  skies,  thy  purple  seas  ! 
These  boughs  of  blessing  shall  not  fail, 

19 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


These  voices  singing  in  the  gale, 
The  vigor  of  these  mighty  lines  — 
I  will  content  me  with  my  pines! 


THE   SINGING  ON   THE   RIVER 

WHEN  nights  are  dusk  and  airs  are  soft, 
Where  stars  and  tree  boughs  quiver, 
How  sweet  beneath  Deer  Island's  cliff 
The  singing  on  the  river! 

I  hear  oars  dip  and  waters  lap, 
The  tide  turns  slowly  swinging, 

When  from  the  great  mysterious  dark 
The  sudden  voice  comes  ringing  — 

The  sudden  silver  voice  that  far 

Its  happy  burden  launches, 
Till  the  weird  pine  at  Hawkswood's  Bend 

Stirs  all  its  dewy  branches. 

And  where  the  Laurels  gloom  it  steals, 

And  dies,  remotely  floating, 
On  Salisbury  shore  as  dies  the  song 

Of  some  aerial  boating. 

Perchance  a  young  girl's  voice  wherein 

All  love  and  joy  are  clinging, 
Perchance  the  river-gods',  perchance 

The  great  dark's  voice  is  singing  — 

20 


SPRING   MEASURES 


The  great  soft  tingling  dark  that  hangs 
With  warmth  and  flower  scents  freighted, 

The  dark  that  clung  to  Eden's  slopes 
While  God  and  Morning  waited. 

Ah,  till  the  last  of  the  clear  tones 

In  throbbing  silence  shiver, 
How  sweet  beneath  Deer  Island's  cliff 

That  singing  on  the  river  ! 


SPRING   MEASURES 

I 

APRIL   WINDS 

COME,  little  April  winds, 
Puff  your  dear  lips  ; 
Curl  round  the  veering  vanes, 

The  waiting  ships, 
And  toss,  the  forest  through, 

The  topmost  dps ! 
There  is  no  life  till  you 
Bring  back  the  blue. 

Come,  sky-born  April  winds, 

And  blow,  and  blow 
The  fleecy  cloud  above, 

The  drift  below, 

21 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


And  set  your  breath  before 

The  salt  sea's  flow, 
And  on  the  brook's  bright  floor 
Your  jewels  pour  ! 

Come,  mighty  April  winds, 

And  bid  the  bud 
Call  to  its  blushing  cheek 

The  earth's  best  blood  ; 
On  dearth  of  bloom,  and  drouth, 

Blow  flowers  in  flood  ; 
Blow  Summer  and  the  South 
From  your  sweet  mouth! 


II 
IN   THE   WOOD 

NOW  it  is  April!     Come  with  me 
Into  the  heart  of  the  waiting  wood, 
Dim  with  great  emerald  glooms,  and  sweet 
With  sense  of  slumberous  solitude. 

Here  in  the  dewy  gleam  alit, 

With  flickering  sun  and  fitful  blue, 

Down  the  tranced  depths  how  strong,  it  seems, 
The  spell  is  laid,  how  silent  too! 

As  if  the  moveless  hemlocks  there, 
The  mystic  cedars,  knew  the  bond 

That  held  them  cast  in  changeless  calm, 
Waiting  the  lifting  of  a  wand. 

22 


SPRING   MEASURES 


Nay,  then,  has  silence*  self  a  voice 

Of  wide  and  murmurous  music  ?     Hark  ! 

That  distance  shot  with  quivering  light  — 

You  thought  it  mute  ?     You  thought  it  dark  ? 

Where  you  shall  tread,  all  unaware, 
The  velvet  moss,  from  hiding  cool 

A  troop  of  sparkles  toss  and  fly, 
A  troop  of  dimples  break  the  pool. 

And  close  about  the  kingly  bole 

In  the  dead  bracken  of  his  lair 
A  cloud  of  bursting  buds  have  shed 

Their  dusty  sweetness  on  the  air. 

The  maple  like  an  ember  burns 

Far  down  the  misty  forest  reach ; 
Yonder  the  shadows  prank  themselves 

In  the  green  sunshine  of  the  beech. 

And  where  that  great  bough  slowly  lifts 

A  dusky  plume,  and  falls  on  rest, 
Nestles  a  mother-bird,  and  broods 

The  song  to  come  beneath  her  breast. 

The  whisper  of  the  parting  sheath, 

The  pushing  bud,  'is  singing  there 
Under  the  breath  to  half-guessed  tunes 

Of  trickling  waters  everywhere. 

23 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


With  thrills  along  the  last  year's  leaf, 

With  seeds  that  start,  with  wings  that  whir, 

With  motion  and  with  sound,  the  world, 
The  dark  sweet  world,  is  all  astir. 

In  the  deep  wood  this  April  day 

Feel,  then,  with  what  a  yearning  flight 

Through  every  darkling  clod  the  earth 
Springs  upward  like  a  soul  to  light ! 


Ill 
IN   SONG   TIME 

i 

WHEN  first  the  blush  of  the  sweet  earth,  be 
cause  the  sun  has  turned  her  way, 
Suffuses  light  and  lofty  skies,  and  hides  in  veils  of 

rosy  gray  ; 
When   winds  come  blowing  out  of  heaven,  faint 

with  a  breath  of  unknown  bliss, 
The  bloom  of  shores  the  soul  has  known  in  some  far 

other  morn  than  this; 
When  life  is  gushing  everywhere  in   pulses  from 

the  primal  source, 
And  all  the  answering  planet  thrills  and  trembles  to 

the  quickening  force  ; 

When  silver    showers  are  rent  in   twain  by  sun 
beams  in  their  arrowy  drive, 

And  grassing  all  the  woody  ways,  the  dark  mould 
fain  would  be  alive  ; 
24 


SPRING   MEASURES 


When  down  the  happy  orchard  aisles  the  apple- 
trees  begin  to  blow, 

And  wrap  their  rugged  being  round  with  brooding 
wings  of  blushing  snow  ; 

When  children  wild  with  laughter  snatch  the  first 
born  violets  of  the  year, 

And  smouldering,  flashing,  beauty  breaks  a  flame  of 
blossom  far  and  near  ; 

When  bees  are  humming,  swallows  darting,  leaves 

are  rustling,  brooks  foam  white  ; 
When  birds  to  music  shake  the   air,   and  just   to 

breathe  is  sheer  delight  — 
Oh,  then  the  poet  feels  him  part  of  all  the  lovesome 

stirring  thing, 
Thrills,  as  the  mighty  mother  thrills,  to   the  great 

impulse  of  the  spring, 
Wild  joyous  motions  flitter  where  the  pool  lay  dark 

and  silent  long, 
The  fount  of  singing  overflows,  his  soul  is  nothing 

but  a  song ! 


SAID  the  archangels,  moving  in  their  glory, 
Seeing  the  suns  bend  out  along  their  courses, 
Seeing  the  earth  swim  up  in  vernal  light, 
Seeing  the  year  renew  her  ancient  story,  — 
Ask  we  here  the  Lord  of  all  the  finer  forces 
To   make   us  now  a  poet  whose  song   shall 
reach  our  height ! 

25 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Fain  would  we  know  the  impulse  ever  fleeing, 
Fleeing  in  light  o'er  the  battlements  of  even, 

Fleeing  in  love  that  lifts  the  universe  like  wings ; 
Fain  would  we  know  the  secret  of  our  being, 

Blush    for    a    moment   with  the   inmost   joy  of 

heaven  — 

Make  us  then    a   poet  whose  song  shall  tell 
these  things ! 

From  his  rosy  cloud,  a  Voice,  —  O  wonder  ! 
All  my  harp-strings  tremble  to  sweet  singing  ! 

Life,  O  lovely  life,  is  at  the  flood  ! 
Hear  the  torrents'  far  melodious  thunder, 

Hear  the  winds'  long  sweep,  the  joyous  thickets 

ringing, 

Forests  bow  and  murmur,  and  blossoms  burst 
their  bud  ! 

Israfel,  the  Voice,  was  warbling,  —  Follow 

Where  the  wild  swift  music  winds  and  doubles ! 
Follow!    When  the  sap  whirls  longing  for  the 

light, 

When  the  first  thrush  thrills  the  dusky  hollow, 
Every  heart  on  earth  with  jocund  spirit  bubbles, 
And  every  soul 's  a  poet  whose  song  surmounts 
our  height ! 


26 


SPRING   MEASURES 


IV 
OUTDOORS 

BLUE  as  the  ephod  robe 
Of  desert  story 
Deepens  the  sky  and  burns 

With  inner  glory. 
Blue,  blue  it  burns  and  bears 

Upon  its  bosom 
Branch-work  of  rose  and  snow 

And  tufted  blossom, 
Tracery  of  coral  stem, 

Foam- wreath  of  flower, 
Raining  from  airy  heights 

A  silken  shower. 
And  while  full  odors  steal 

With  soft  caressing, 
Out  of  exhaustless  wells 

Forever  pressing, 
To  gaze  is  transport  and 

To  breathe  is  blessing  ! 

Sometimes  I  think  the  Lord 

Of  all  this  splendor 
Looks  at  it  with  a  love 

Exceeding  tender. 
Because  He  loves  it  so 

It  seems  to  capture 
Some  effluence  divine, 

Some  source  of  rapture, 
Fusing  with  earth  and  air, 

In  wondrous  leaven, 

27 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


The  beauty  too  intense 

Of  upper  heaven ! 
Sometimes  in  vision  half 

The  marvel  seeing, 
The  vast,  swift  loveliness 

Around  me  fleeing 
Is  but  a  gleam,  a  glance, 

Of  God's  own  being  ! 

AFLOAT 

WINDING  in  and  out  the  fragrant  meadow, 
Now  the  boatway  lapses  into  shadow, 
While  the  high-arched  forest  branches  quiver 
O'er  green  depth  of  sunshine  in  the  river. 
Anchored  lilies  dip  before  our  gliding  ; 
Scarlet-finned  the  perch  below  are  sliding  ; 
Here  a  happy  nest  among  the  sedges 
Hides  its  pearls  behind  the  reedy  edges, 
Here  the  blue  wings  of  a  flitting  swallow 
With  the  fluttering  pennon  flash  and  follow. 

All  at  once  the  world  is  wider  round  us, 
Lonely  marshes  far  and  near  have  bound  us, 
Up  their  creeks  a  glistening  tide  goes  swimming 
Where  the  sails  like  pointed  flames  are  skimming. 
Close  above,  the  idle  lighthouse  towers 
Like  a  phantom  through  the  shining  hours, 
Looms  along  the  low  and  barren  beaches, 
Over  all  the  salty  ocean  reaches, 
Over  all  the  white-plumed  crests  that  landward 
Toss  the  fleeting  foam-bow  of  their  standard. 
28 


THE   FIRE-FLIES   IN   THE   WHEAT 


Ah,  the  soaring,  sinking,  of  our  flying  — 
So  may  spirits  pass  who  leave  their  dying. 
What  a  fresh  breath  from  the  hoary  hollows  ! 
Turn  again,  ye  little  scudding  swallows  — 
Space  nor  grace  be  found  for  summer's  nestlings 
Where  these  winds  and  waters  keep  their  wrestlings. 
Ancient  winds  from  ancient  heavens  are  falling, 
Awful  deeps  to  awful  deeps  are  calling  ! 
How  the  great  swells  of  the  bar  are  leaping 
Purple-breasted,  froth-flecked,  to  our  sweeping  ! 
Mount  them,  gallant  bark,  with  gallant  riding, 
Music  echoes  in  their  angry  chiding, 
Music  in  the  breakers'  silver  thunder, 
Music  in  the  billow  cleft  asunder  ! 
Now  no  more  the  fitful  west  wind  teases,  — 
Loose  the  sail  !     And  blow,  ye  mighty  breezes  ! 


THE   FIRE-FLIES   IN   THE   WHEAT 

AH,  never  of  a  summer  night 
Will  life  again  be  half  as  sweet 
As  in  that  country  of  delight 

Where  straying,  staying,  with  happy  feet, 
We  watched  the  fire-flies  in  the  wheat. 

Full  dark  and  deep  the  starless  night, 
Still  throbbing  with  the  summer  heat ; 

There  was  no  ray  of  any  light, 

But  dancing,  glancing,  far  and  fleet, 
Only  the  fire-flies  in  the  wheat. 

29 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


In  that  great  country  of  delight, 

Where  youth  and  love  the  borders  mete, 

We  paused  and  lingered  for  the  sight, 

While  sparkling,  darkling,  flashed  the  sheet 
Of  splendid  fire-flies  in  the  wheat. 

That  night  the  earth  seemed  but  a  height 
Whereon  to  rest  our  happy  feet, 

Watching  one  moment  that  wide  flight, 

Where  lightning,  brightening,  mount  and  meet 
Those  burning  fire-flies  in  the  wheat. 

And  still  the  words  whose  memory  might 
Make  an  old  heart  with  madness  beat, 

Whose  sense  no  music  can  recite, 
That  chasing,  racing,  rhythmic  beat 
Sings  out  with  fire-flies  in  the  wheat. 

Oh,  never  of  such  blest  despite 

Dreamed  I,  whom  fate  was  wont  to  cheat  — 

And  like  a  star  your  face,  and  white  — 
While  mingling,  tingling,  wild  as  sleet, 
Stormed  all  those  fire-flies  through  the  wheat. 

Though  of  that  country  of  delight 

The  farther  bounds  we  shall  not  greet, 

Still,  sweet  of  all,  that  summer  night, 

That  maddest,  gladdest  night  most  sweet, 
Watching  the  fire-flies  in  the  wheat  ! 


MIDSUMMER 


MIDSUMMER 

DAWN-TIDE  growing,  rose-light  sowing, 
Heaven  showing  bloom  and  sheen, 
With  the  summer  morning  breaking 

Silver  soft  and  all  serene, 
Oh  the  still  delight  of  waking 

When  the  grass  is  in  the  mowing 
And  the  leaf  is  green  ! 


Dark  kine  lowing,  slow  mists  throwing 

In  their  going,  half  unseen, 
Where  the  thatch  is  shine  and  shadow 

Oh,  below  the  sail  to  lean, 
Barges  dropping  down  the  meadow, 

When  the  grass  is  in  the  mowing 

And  the  leaf  is  green  ! 


Waters  flowing,  sunshine  glowing, 

Breezes  blowing  in  between, 
Every  spray  a  blossom  giving, 

Every  dewdrop  Hippocrene, 
Oh  the  loveliness  of  living 

When  the  grass  is  in  the  mowing 

And  the  leaf  is  green  ! 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


THE   HUNT 

WILD  stream  the  clouds,  and  the  fresh  wind 
is  singing, 
Red  is  the  dawn,    and   the  world  white   with 

rime,  — 

Music,  O  music  !     The  hunter's  horn  ringing  ! 
Over  the  hill-top  the  mounted  men  climb. 

Flashing  of  scarlet,  and  glitter,  and  jingle, 

The    deep    bay,   the    rhythm    of  hoof  and    of 

cry,— 

Echo,  O  echo  !     The  winds  rush  and  mingle  ! 
Halloo,  view  halloo !     And  the  Hunt  has  swept 
by. 


Stay !     All  the  morning  is  hushed  and  is  sober, 
Bare  is  the  hill-top  and  sad  as  its  wont,  — 

Out  of  the  ghost  of  a  long-dead  October 

Blows  as  the  dust  blows  the  ghost  of  the  Hunt  ! 


OFF    BRETON    COAST    A    THOUSAND 
YEARS    AGO 

PUT  the  boat  round,  and  head  her  for  the  sea ! 
Did  I  hear,  Damrosee  ?     Did  you  answer  me  ? 
Has  the  wind  so  sweet  a  sigh  as  that  whisper 

which  went  by  ? 

Oh,  bring  the  boat  about,  and  head  her  for  the  sea  ! 
32 


OFF  BRETON   COAST 


Soft  the  old  gray  towers  sink  beyond  the  view, 
Clouds  of  wings  above  them  dark  upon  the  blue ; 
Oh,  the  rooks  come  back  at  night,  however  long 

their  flight, 
But  never  more,  Damrosee,  those  towers  encircle 

you  ! 

Up  blaze  the  bonfires  on  the  great  bluff's  side, 
Tremblingly  the  bridegroom  hastens  to  the  bride  : 
With   many  winters'    snows  upon  his  head  he 

goes; 

Oh,  tremble,  dotard,  like  the  lights  that  in  your 
jewels  hide ! 


Tremble  !     For  the  tide  between  yourself  and  her 
Wide  swells,  and  wider,  a  purple  plunderer  ! 
A  thousand  spears  of  light,  it  strikes  your  startled 

sight, 
And   every  spear  a  foeman,  and  the  great  winds 

stir  ! 


Many  a  time,  Damrosee,  have   I  sailed   along  the 

lea, 
When  nights  were  still  and  dark,  and  when  glad 

gales  were  free, 
Seen  your  towers  shine  where  they  stand,  and 

fair,  I  said,  the  blooming  land,  — 
Oh,  fair  and  broad  !  —  but    my   dominion   is  the 

sea. 

3  33 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Oh,   beautiful    dominion,   where   the   wild   storms 
bloom, 

Where  field  on  field  forever  flies  the  foam-wreath's 

plume, 

Where  sleep  the  silver  swells,  where  the  moon 
light  weaves  her  spells, 

Where  sunrise   like  a  spirit  bursts   from  the  gray 
gloom ! 

See,   how  far   above   us   the   bright   sail   takes   its 

breath  ! 

See,  how  far  below  us  the  great  sea  darkeneth ! 
Oh,   Damrosee,    wild   the   bliss,  heart   to  heart 

and  kiss  to  kiss, 
With  nothing  but  a  tree's  stem  between  our  flight 

and  death  ! 


TWO   ANTIQUES 

I 

THE   LAMP 

CLEAR  as  if  she  passed  me  now  — 
Stepping  leopard-like  and  quick, 
Long-limbed,  with  a  furtive  grace  — 
I  can  see  the  ivory  brow  ; 
See  the  gold  bronze  of  the  face 
Burn  with  joy,  I  know  not  how  ; 
See  beneath  the  scarf  the  hair 
Black  as  midnight,  fragrant,  thick, 
34 


TWO   ANTIQUES 


Falling  all  about  her  there. 
And  as  fire  bursts  from  char, 
Each  eye  kindle  like  a  star ! 
When  her  long-lost  lamp  I  bring  — 
There  Js  such  magic  in  the  thing  — 
From  her  ashes  scattered  far, 
From  her  thousand  years  away, 
She  comes  back  to  me  to-day. 

Just  a  little  earthen  lamp  — 
Here  the  oil  swam,  here  the  wick, 
Here  the  flame  went  flaring  back 
If  the  bearer  turned  her  quick  ; 
Turned  her  in  the  shadowy  space, 
Saw  the  flash  of  one  swart  face  ; 
Saw  the  eager  arms,  and  —  hark  !  — 
Sprang  aside,  and  let  the  dark 
Blow  her  out  and  drown  the  spark  ! 


II 

THE    TEAR    BOTTLE 

HERE  a  sudden  flush  of  flame, 
And  here  a  sheet  of  azure  glory, 
Blood-red  depth,  and  lucid  green 

Of  seas  a  stooping  storm  makes  hoary. 
Such  a  blaze  sheds  no  sweet  queen, 

Jewel-eyed,  by  gems  attended  ; 
No  imperial  pearl  so  fair  ; 
No  fire-opal  half  so  splendid. 

35 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Tiny  treasure,  making  play 
Of  beauty  out  of  long  decay, 
Gathering  light  in  some  old  tomb 
Through  twenty  centuries  of  gloom  ! 

Passion  of  wild  joy  and  life, 

Passion  of  vast  death  and  sorrow, 
Tremor  of  delicious  hope 

Beating  breathless  toward  to-morrow  ; 
Desolation  and  despair 

Prostrate  in  the  dead  night-hushes; 
Pallor  of  vague  fear  and  dole, 

Stormy  surge  of  love  and  blushes  — 
With  disintegrating  power, 
In  slow  enchantment  hour  by  hour, 
Wrought  old  earth  the  spell  ?  or  here 
Were  all  these  splendors  in  a  tear  ? 


THE   SECRET 

NAY  !  nay  !  I  have  not  told  you  yet ! 
I  cannot  tell  you  while  you  let 
Your  heart  shake  so.      Here,  lend  your  ear 
Ah,  God  in  heaven,  have  no  fear ! 
'Tis  I,  not  you,  should  quake,  for  lo, 
This  many  a  year  I  've  trembled  so 
When  in  the  dead  of  the  dark  I  heard 
The  whistle  of  a  waking  bird, 
Or  saw  the  moon  with  leprous  stain 
Look  through  the  waiting  window-pane, 
36 


THE   SECRET 


As  if  a  ghost  stood  there  a  space 
With  eyes  that  lit  the  troubled  place, 
What  time  the  arras  on  the  wall 
Let  all  its  shadows  rise  and  fall, 
And  strange  soft  rustlings  swept  the  room, 
And  ghoul  and  goblin  filled  the  gloom, 
Appalling  shapes  with  threatening  gleams, 
Till  back  I  cowered  to  my  dreams  ! 

Sometimes  the  wind  comes  up  and  sings 
Like  a  lost  soul ;  the  great  shield  rings 
Against  the  wainscot.      Give  a  glance, 
The  knight  in  armor,  with  his  lance, 
Half  stirs  and  lifts  a  murderous  arm  ; 
Icy,  and  curdling  with  alarm, 
I  cry  out,  and  the  echoes  cry  — 
Oh,  so  I  heard  that  voice  once  —  I  — 
And  the  wind  wails  on  as  before 
Over  the  wild  and  lonely  moor. 

Nay,  hear  me  ;  I  must  tell  you  now  — 
Damp,  damp,  the  sweat  stands  on  my  brow, 
And  cold,  the  very  cold  of  the  grave 
Creeps  up.      Help  !  help  me,  you  who  save ! 
I  dare  not  meet  that  awful  face, 
Going  unshriven  and  without  grace ! 
Deep  in  no  grave  can  I  find  rest 
With  this  dark  secret  in  my  breast. 
Oh,  priest,  assoil  me,  ere  the  glass 
Suffer  those  slipping  sands  to  pass. 

37 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Pain  at  my  heart  a  dagger  pricks  — 
Quick,  to  my  lips  the  crucifix  ! 
Life,  like  those  sands,  is  slipping  fast, 
And  I  shall  be  unsained  at  last  ! 

Oh,  priest,  the  pang  is  past.     And  now 
Let  me  make  haste  to  tell  you  how 
The  thing  was  done.     For  you  must  see 
The  wreck  I  am  I  could  not  be 
In  those  lost  years. 

My  arm  was  strong  ; 
My  blood  went  singing  such  a  song 
Of  life  and  joy  along  my  veins, 
As  in  May  moons  and  flowery  lanes 
Lovers  go  singing  proud  and  glad, 
And  what  I  wanted,  that  I  had  ! 
Oh,  had  I  never  at  the  first 
Pursued  —     Alas,  I  was  accursed  ! 
Oh,  had  I  never —     For  Christ's  sake, 
Were  it  a  dream  and  I  could  wake  ! 
But  I  was  young,  and  what  so  bold  ? 
Now  I  am  old,  old,  very  old ! 
Now  I  am  nothing  but  a  pain  — 
Oh,  priest,  the  agony  again  ! 
Sign  me  the  sign  of  the  cross  !     Draw  near  ! 
Wait,  I  will  breathe  it  in  your  ear. 
'T  was  I  —  Nay,  start  not !     Oh,  't  was  I 
That  —     Listen  !     Do  not  let  me  die 
Till  I  have  told  you  !     Turn  your  head  — 
Those  eyes,  those  awful  eyes  of  the  dead 
Shining  like  corpse-lights  !     Give  me  breath  — 
Unsained  —  unshriven  —  God  !     Is  this  death  ! 

38 


BRONTE 


BRONTE 

THERE  are  two  ghosts  upon  the  stair  ! 
One  is  so  slender  and  so  fair  — 
The  grave-light  faints  upon  her  hair, 
And  falls  and  follows  as  she  stirs 
With  the  old  grace  that  once  was  hers, 
Stirs  on  that  chill  and  sinuous  breath 
Blown  from  the  frozen  halls  of  death. 
A  dream,  a  film,  along  the  air  — 
There  are  two  ghosts  upon  the  stair. 

There  are  two  ghosts  without  the  door,  — 

One  lofty  as  when  first  she  wore 

The  purple  of  her  youth,  and  bore 

Her  state  like  some  young  queen.      Full  white 

And  icy  as  the  northern  light 

The  death-mask  on  her  face.     And  see, 

A  cold  flame  where  her  heart  should  be  ! 

Calm,  bitter  calm,  and  fair  and  frore, 

There  are  two  ghosts  without  the  door. 

There  are  two  ghosts  beyond  the  pane  — 

In  all  the  void  and  vast  inane, 

In  all  the  vernal  fall  of  rain, 

In  all  the  drifting  of  the  mist, 

When  winds  are  high,  when  winds  are  whist, 

In  all  the  long  sighs  of  the  gale, 

Two  hovering  wavering  shapes  and  pale, 

In  all  the  wide  night's  dark  domain, 

There  are  two  ghosts  beyond  the  pane. 

39 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


On  wintry  driving  of  the  sleet, 

Between  those  graves  whose  furrows  meet, 

She  sees  a  yearning  face  and  sweet. 

All  night  she  hears  the  great  winds  blow, 

And  sees  the  wild, white,  whirling  snow 

Sweep  up  the  black  vault  of  the  sky, 

And  sees  a  shadow  fleeting  by 

That  treads  the  storm  with  royal  feet,  — 

There  are  two  ghosts  upon  the  sleet. 


Out  on  the  high  brow  of  the  moor, 
Night  lifting  all  her  clear-obscure, 
Or  morn  with  primal  tides  washed  pure, 
While  skies  and  larks  together  soar, 
And  the  rime  glimmers  fresh  and  hoar, 
Out  in  the  glorious  golden  weather, 
Knee-deep  and  lost  in  plumy  heather, 
In  lonely  space  from  lure  to  lure 
There  are  two  ghosts  upon  the  moor. 


And  when  along  heaven's  shining  coasts 
The  summer  evening  leads  his  hosts 
In  the  great  train  the  pole-star  boasts, 
She  sees  from  purple  hollows  shine 
Eyes  with  a  sorrow  half  divine, 
And  in  a  mist  of  stars  will  note 
Ethereal  weft  of  garments  float,  — 
Pressing  from  faintest  farthest  posts 
In  heaven  itself  there  are  two  ghosts. 
40 


BRONTE 


Or  dreaming  there  beside  the  hearth 
Of  lightsome  days  of  ancient  mirth 
That  cast  a  bloom  upon  the  earth, 
Of  shapes  that  filled  those  happy  years 
Seen  through  the  halo  of  her  tears, 
She  feels  them  stealing  nigh  and  nigher 
To  take  the  last  flash  of  the  fire,  — 
Woe  to  that  house  of  gloom  and  dearth, 
There  are  two  ghosts  beside  the  hearth  ! 


Sometimes  at  night  about  her  bed 
The  moonlight,  in  a  glamour  shed, 
Puts  on  the  likeness  of  the  dead. 
The  glamour  creeps  along  the  wall, 
Far  off  soft  voices  seem  to  fall, 
Soft  footsteps  falter  through  the  room, 
She  cries,  and  reaches  in  the  gloom, 
And  life,  and  light,  and  joy  are  fled,  — 
There  are  two  ghosts  about  her  bed. 


The  gentle  cunning  fails  her  hand, 

Here  where  they  woke,  they  wrought,  they  planned, 

While  day  slides  o'er  the  lonesome  land, 

The  needle  poised,  the  pencil  prone,  — 

Pale  fingers  moving  with  her  own,  — 

The  book,  that  once  strange  witchery  threw, 

Forgotten  slipt,  —  they  read  it,  too,  — 

Awake,  asleep,  astir,  at  stand, 

There  are  two  ghosts  at  her  right  hand. 

41 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


What  memories  nestling  in  her  heart 
With  wild,  sweet  wings  of  longing  start ! 
The  things  they  touched  —  with  awful  art  - 
The  clock's  dull  tick,  the  walls,  the  doors, 
The  very  shadows  on  the  floors, 
The  old  smiles,  wake  an  aching  fret. 
Barbed  with  the  poison  of  regret 
Each  moment  gives  a  keener  smart,  — 
There  are  two  ghosts  within  her  heart ! 

There  are  two  ghosts  upon  the  stair. 
Long  since  Fame  spread  his  splendid  snare ; 
Love  came  and  camped  about  her  there. 
Oh,  love  was  sweet,  and  life  was  dear,  — 
But,  hark  !  those  voices,  strong  and  clear, 
They  wail,  they  call,  she  must  not  stay  — 
Out,  to  the  open,  and  away  ! 
Oh,  love  past  death  and  death's  despair, 
There  are  three  ghosts  upon  the  stair ! 


LAMENT 

HOW  meagre  seems  the  life  so  briefly  doled  ! 
That  I  who  noted  in  your  earliest  hour 
The  dimple  in  the  lovely  cheek  unfold 
With  the  first  smile  of  all,  —  that  I  who  told 
The  promise  of  your  beauty,  as  some  flower 
Flaming  across  the  dark  days  of  the  year 
Promises  summer,  —  that  I  who  in  your  first 
Dear  warble  had  divined  the  glorious  burst 
42 


LAMENT 


Of  music  in  your  throat  that  yet  might  be 

The  marvel  of  some  later  minstrelsy,  — 

How  meagre  seems  the  life  so  briefly  doled ! 

That  I  shall  never  see  that  beauty  grow 

To  its  meridian,  full  orbed  as  the  moon 

Which  great  and  golden  in  the  mist  swims  low 

And  hangs  wide-winged  in  heaven  when  perfect 

June 

Transfigures  night,  —  that  I  shall  never  hear 
The  voice  in  all  the  passion  of  its  tune 
Sweet,  sweet  and  rich  with  the  unfallen  tear, 
The  stress  of  love,  the  whole  of  life  !  Ah,  me, 
I  shall  be  lying  in  my  dust,  all  mute, 
For  song  the  owlet  over  me  shall  hoot, 
I  shall  be  gone,  like  the  loose  leaf  from  the  tree, 
The  idle  leaf  that  flutters  in  the  blast, 
And  falls,  and  sodden  with  showers  returns  at  last 
To  the  enriching  earth.      Nor  late,  nor  soon, 
Dead  in  the  dark,  shall  it  be  known  to  me 
That  you,  the  one  consummate  flower  and  fruit, 
Still  show  all  men  how  goodly  is  the  root  ! 

Thus  murmured  I  when  the  child's  loveliness 
With  gracious  prophecy  of  lip  and  brow 
Filled  all  my  yearning  heart  with  sweet  distress 
And  longing  for  the  impossible.      And  now 
Less  even  than  the  loose  and  idle  leaf, 
A  mere  blown  petal  from  the  blowing  bough, 
The  child  is  gone,  and  I  grow  gray  and  old. 
And  still  I  murmur  to  my  angry  grief, 
How  meagre  is  the  life  so  briefly  doled ! 

43 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


THE   HOUR   OF   PEACE 

UPON  the  door-stone  sat  the  wife, 
The  twilight  falling, 
And  far  below  the  whippoorwills 

Were  softly  calling. 
The  sweet  winds  dropped  upon  their  way 

Their  honeyed  plunder, 
And  slow  and  clear  the  night  built  up 
Its  house  of  wonder. 

Within,  the  child  dreamed  deep,  and  saw 

Four  angels  keeping 
Their  gentle  ward  with  leaning  wings 

About  his  sleeping. 
While  singing  from  the  steep  below, 

Where  shadows  slumbered, 
Her  true  love  climbed,  and  in  his  heart 

His  treasures  numbered. 

And  sighing  faintly  to  herself 

With  purest  pleasure, 
Life  brimming  at  her  lips  to  full 

O'erflowing  measure, 
She  marvelled  if  the  happy  earth, 

This  summer  even, 
Were  not  the  paved  work  laid  before 

The  courts  of  heaven. 

And  yet,  a  cold  wind  from  the  cloud 

To  snatch  in  blowing 
The  little  breath  between  the  lips 

So  lightly  flowing ; 

44 


MOTHER   SONG 


A  pebble  underfoot  where  sheer 

The  rock  descended  — 
Ah,  Fate  !     What  slender  chances  held 

Her  heaven  suspended  ! 


MOTHER   SONG 

i OFT  sleeps  the  earth  in  moonlight  blest; 


iSoft  sleeps  the  bough  above  the  nest ; 
O'er  lonely  depths  the  whippoorwill 
Breathes  one  faint  note  and  all  is  still. 
Sleep,  little  darling  ;  night  is  long  — 
Sleep  while  I  sing  thy  cradle  song. 

About  thy  dream  the  drooping  flower 
Blows  her  sweet  breath  from  hour  to  hour, 
And  white  the  great  moon  spreads  her  wings, 
While  low,  while  far,  the  dear  earth  swings. 
Sleep,  little  darling  ;  all  night  long 
The  winds  shall  sing  thy  slumber  song. 

Powers  of  the  earth  and  of  the  air 
Shall  have  thee  in  their  mother-care, 
And  hosts  of  heaven,  together  prest, 
Bend  over  thee,  their  last,  their  best. 
Hush,  little  darling  ;  from  the  deep 
Some  mighty  wing  shall  fan  thy  sleep. 


45 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


ON  AN   OLD   WOMAN   SINGING 

SWEET  are  the  songs  that  I  have  heard 
From  green  boughs  and  the  building  bird  ; 
From  children  bubbling  o'er  with  tune 
While  sleep  still  held  me  half  in  swoon, 
And  surly  bees  hummed  everywhere 
Their  drowsy  bass  along  the  air  ; 
From  hunters  and  the  hunting-horn 
Before  the  day-star  woke  the  morn  ; 
From  boatmen  in  ambrosial  dusk, 
Where,  richer  than  a  puff  of  musk, 
The  blossom  breath  they  drifted  through 
Fell  out  of  branches  drenched  with  dew. 

And  sweet  the  strains  that  come  to  me 
When  in  great  memories  I  see 
All  that  full-throated  quiring  throng 
Go  streaming  on  the  winds  of  song;  — 
Her  who  afar  in  upper  sky 
Sounded  the  wild  Brunhilde's  cry, 
With  golden  clash  of  shield  and  spear, 
Singing  for  only  gods  to  hear ; 
And  her  who  on  the  trumpet's  blare 
Sang  Angels  Ever  Bright  and  Fair, 
Her  voice,  her  presence,  where  she  stood, 
Already  part  of  angelhood. 

But  never  have  I  heard  in  song 
Sweetness  and  sorrow  so  prolong 
Their  life  —  as  muted  music  rings 
Along  vibrating  silver  strings  — 
46 


THE   STERN   CHASE 


As  when,  with  all  her  eighty  years, 

With  all  her  fires  long  quenched  in  tears, 

A  little  woman,  with  a  look 

Like  some  flower  folded  in  a  book, 

Lifted  a  thin  and  piping  tone, 

And  like  the  sparrow  made  her  moan, 

Forgetful  that  another  heard, 

And  sang  till  all  her  soul  was  stirred. 


And  listening,  oh,  what  joy  and  grief 

Trembled  there  like  a  trembling  leaf! 

The  strain  where  first-love  thrilled  the  bars 

Beneath  the  priesthood  of  the  stars  ; 

The  murmur  of  soft  lullabies 

Above  dear  unconsenting  eyes  ; 

The  hymns  where  once  her  pure  soul  trod 

The  heights  above  the  hills  of  God  — 

All  on  the  quavering  note  awoke, 

And  in  a  silent  passion  broke, 

And  made  that  tender  tune  and  word 

The  sweetest  song  I  ever  heard. 


THE   STERN   CHASE 

OH,  call  to  that  bright  ship  To-morrow  ! 
Hail,  hail  her:  Ahoy  !  Ship  Ahoy  ! 
Oh,  tell  us  the  secret  of  sorrow, 
And  what  is  the  measure  of  joy  ! 

47 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Oh,  hear  you  no  faint  cry  returning 
The  cry  that  we  trumpet  her  thus  ? 

The  sun  on  her  sky-sail  is  burning, 
Oh,  is  there  no  signal  for  us? 

The  mists  make  a  moment's  erasure, 

Tossing  and  silver  and  slow; 
Diaphanous,  tremulous,  azure, 

They  fold  her  in  shadows  of  snow. 

A  moment  the  winds  fall  upon  her  ; 

As  a  cloud  does,  she  bursts  into  bloom ; 
The  great  waves  fawn,  doing  her  honor ; 

She  glimmers  away  into  gloom. 

And  the  secret  of  sorrow  we  never 
Shall  hear  with  the  far  cry  :   Ahoy  ! 

Forever,  forever,  forever 

Escapes  us  the  measure  of  joy  ! 


PARADISE 

THE  light  lay  on  the  gates,  the  light 
Sent  from  no  moon  nor  any  star, 
And  in  the  radiance  strange  blooms  wild  and  white, 

White  as  the  mists  of  morning  are 
Smitten  by  sun  and  storm  and  shower, 
Climbed,  ever  climbed,  a  living  tower, 
Where  the  life  shook  in  spray  and  spire, 
With  hidden  depths  half  orbed  in  dew, 
With  garlands,  an  innumerous  crew, 
48 


PARADISE 


Swinging  in  splendid  leaf  and  brier, 

And  the  high  heaven  stooped  in  sad  desire, 

And  far  the  fragrance  streamed,  and  far  the  fire. 


But  heavily  the  midnight  gloomed 

Beyond,  o'er  all  things  dear  and  sweet, 
Where  the  hushed  cedars  in  the  lustre  loomed 

And  cast  the  darkness  at  their  feet,  — 
Loomed  in  the  surge  of  hoary  flame 
The  archangel,  burning  in  vast  shame, 
Shed  on  the  broad  and  blenching  skies, 

Shed  moveless  from  his  sword  whose  guard 
The  way  with  white  transplendence  barred, 
Or  from  insufferable  eyes, — 
For,  in  the  shadow  where  all  shadow  dies, 
Black,  black  behind  the  gates  lay  Paradise. 


And  as  they  went,  they  two  alone, 

They  two,  away  from  Paradise, 
One  smiled  upon  them  from  a  happier  zone, 

Vaporous,  and  blushing,  and  from  eyes 
Violets  with  Hesper  in  their  dew, 
And  murmured,    "  Though  the  gates  for  you 
No  more  unclose,  oh,  wherefore  go 

So  far  ?     For  underneath  these  walls 

Once,  only  once,  when  Young  Love  calls, 
With  music  winding  wide  and  low, 
They  who  come  after  you  shall  surely  know 
How  sweet  the  winds  of  Paradise  do  blow." 
4  49 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Then  as  their  steps  stayed  at  the  sigh 
Of  low  boughs  drooping  in  a  wood, 

With  wings  that  touched  the  earth  and  touched  the 

sky 
They  knew  a  still  dim  angel  stood. 

"  Grace  do  I  bear.      In  Eden's  stead 

Enter  the  Eden  here,"   he  said. 

"  Where  unforgotten  odors  creep, 
The  rivers  out  of  Eden  fall, 
The  rose-leaves  drift  across  the  wall, 

And  breathed  from  ivory  flutes  shall  sweep 

Soft  measures  round  you  lying  dark  and  deep 

Folded  within  the  Paradise  of  Sleep!  " 


AT   THE   POTTER'S 

THERE  were  two  vases  in  the  sun. 
A  bit  of  common  earthenware, 
A  rude  and  shapeless  jar,  was  one. 

The  other  —  could  a  thing  more  fair 
Be  made  of  clay  ?     Blushed  not  so  soft 
The  almond  blossom  in  the  light ; 
A  lily's  stem  was  not  so  slight 
With  lovely  lines  that  lift  aloft 

Pure  grace  and  perfectness  full-blown  ; 
And  not  beneath  the  ringer  tip 
So  smooth,  or  pressed  upon  the  lip, 
The  velvet  petal  of  a  rose. 
Less  fair  were  some  great  flower  that  blows 

In  a  king's  garden,  changed  to  stone! 
SO 


AT   THE   POTTER'S 


King's  gardens  do  not  grow  such  flowers  — 
In  a  dream  garden  was  it  blown  ! 

Fine  fancies,  in  long  sunny  hours, 
Brought  it  to  beauty  all  its  own. 

With  silent  song  its  shape  was  wrought 
From  dart  of  wing,  from  droop  of  spray, 
From  colors  of  the  breaking  day, 

Transfigured  in  a  poet's  thought. 

At  last,  the  finished  flower  of  art  — 

The  dream-flower  on  its  slender  stem  — 

What  fierce  flames  fused  it  to  a  gem  ! 
A  thousand  times  its  weight  in  gold 
A  prince  paid,  ere  its  price  was  told, 
Then  set  it  on  a  shelf  apart. 


But  through  the  market's  gentle  gloom, 
Crying  his  ever-fragrant  oil, 

That  should  anoint  the  bride  in  bloom, 
That  should  the  passing  soul  assoil, 

Lat^r  the  man  with  attar  came, 

And  tossed  a  penny  down  and  poured 
In  the  rude  jar  his  precious  hoard. 

What  perfume,  like  a  subtile  flame, 

Sprang  through  its  substance  happy  starred  ! 

Whole  roses  into  blossom  leapt, 

Whole  gardens  in  its  warm  heart  slept  ! 
Long  afterward,  thrown  down  in  haste, 
The  jar  lay,  shattered  and  made  waste, 
But  sweet  to  its  remotest  shard  ! 


51 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


THE   KING'S   DUST 

"  HT^  HOU  shalt  die,"  the  priest  said  to  the  king. 
"  Thou  shalt  vanish  like  the  leaves  of  spring. 
Like  the  dust  of  any  common  thing 

One  day  thou  upon  the  winds  shalt  blow  !  " 
"  Nay,  not  so,"   the  king  said.      "  I  shall  stay 
While  the  great  sun  in  the  sky  makes  day  ; 
Heaven  and  earth,  when  I  do,  pass  away. 

In  my  tomb  I  wait  till  all  things  go  !  " 


Then  the  king  died.      And  with  myrrh  and  nard, 
Washed  with  palm-wine,  swathed  in  linen  hard, 
Rolled  in  naphtha-gum,  and  under  guard 

Of  his  steadfast  tomb,  they  laid  the  king. 
Century  fled  to  century;  still  he  lay 
Whole  as  when  they  hid  him  first  away,  — 
Sooth,  the  priest  had  nothing  more  to  say, 

He,  it  seemed,  the  king,  knew  everything. 


One  day  armies,  with  the  tramp  of  doom 
Overthrew  the  huge  blocks  of  the  tomb ; 
Swarming  sunbeams  searched  its  chambered  gloom, 

Bedouins  camped  about  the  sand-blown  spot. 
Little  Arabs,  answering  to  their  name, 
With  a  broken  mummy  fed  the  flame, 
Then  a  wind  among  the  ashes  came, 

Blew  them  lightly,  —  and  the  king  was  not ! 


A   WINTER'S   NIGHT 

CAPTIVE 

WHEN  in  the  dark  of  some  despairing  dream 
Sorrow  has  all  her  will  with  me,  and  ease 
Is  full  forgotten,  through  her  dear  degrees 
Steals  Music,  beckoning  with  a  hand  supreme 
For  me  to  follow.     Straight  I  see  the  gleam 

Where  the  winds  dip  them  in  the  far  bright  seas 
That  roll  and  break  about  the  Hebrides, 
See  white  wings  flash  and  hear  the  sea-birds  scream. 


Or  it  may  be  in  palace  gardens  falls 

The  moonlight  on  wide  roses,  where  the  swell 
Of  one  great  lover's  heart  in  passion  calls 

To  deeps  in  other  hearts.      And,  listening,  well 
I  know,  while  sink  my  slow  dissolving  walls, 

So  Music  lured  Eurydice  from  hell. 


A   WINTER'S   NIGHT 

COME,  close  the    curtains,  and  make  fast  the 
door, 

Pile  high  the  logs,  and  let  the  happy  room 
Red  as  the  rose  on  wall  and  ceiling  bloom, 
And  bring  your  golden  flagons  forth  and  pour 
Full  drinking  of  some  ancient  summer's  store 
Of  spice  and  sweetness,  while  to  ruddy  gloom 
The   fire   falls.      And    lest    one    hear    sound    of 

doom 
Let  music  sing  old  ditties  o'er  and  o'er. 

53 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 

Yet  shall  you  never  make  the  door  so  fast 
That  no  moan  echo  on  the  song,  no  shape 
Dull  the  wine's  fragrance  and  the  blaze  obscure 

And  breathe  the  dark  chill  of  the  outer  blast, 
Till  you  shall  turn  and  shudder  to  escape 
The  awful  phantom  of  the  hungry  poor  ! 


CRUSADERS 

WITH  leaping  steeds  and  shrilling  trumpet- 
blast, 

Glitter  of  spears  and  wind-blown  banners  blest, 
A  cloud  of  dreams  of  deathless  deed  and  hest 
In  domes  and  deserts  where  the  East  was  vast, 
Rode  the  Crusaders.      Far  they  rode  and  fast 
From  heathen  hands  the  Sepulchre  to  wrest ; 
And  kingdoms  shook  before  their  mighty  quest, 
The  bounds  of  empire  changed  as  they  swept  past. 


To-day,  where  sound  of  sorrow  has  enticed, 
Fearless,  afoot,  through  mire  of  field  and  fen, 

Armed  only  with  the  mail  of  love  unpriced, 

Where  hosts  flame  wide  or  darkness  makes  its 
den, 

The  glad  knights  seek  the  Sepulchre  of  Christ 
Within  the  bodies  and  the  souls  of  men  ! 


54 


IN  THE  TIME  OF  THE  AFTERMATH 


IN  THE  TIME  OF   THE  AFTERMATH 

THOUGH  flame  and  spice  and  flower 
Are  fallen  and  dead, 
Yet  mantling  all  the  sphere 

Of  fragrance  fled 
Some  unknown  country's  airs 

Strange  sweetness  shed, 
And  fulness  of  content 
Broods  overhead. 


For  far  afield  the  soul 

In  quiet  goes 
Where  wrapt  in  azure  bloom 

The  distance  glows, 
Where  redder  droops  the  leaf 

Than  any  rose, 
And  softer  than  the  west 

The  south  wind  blows. 


Down  dim  depths  drops  the  moon 

His  golden  barque  — 
And  if  the  mist  comes  chill 

The  night  comes  dark, 
The  great  sky  has  no  star, 

The  hill  no  spark, 
Yet  from  the  outer  vast 

What  music,  hark  ! 

55 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


THE   TRYST 

OUT  of  the  darks  and  deeps  of  space, 
Where  worlds  in  awful  shadow  swim, 
I  came  to  meet  the  ancient  sun, 
Obeying  all  my  bond  with  him. 

Wrapped  in  the  glimmer  of  my  scarf, 
My  wefts  of  silver  brede  and  lace, 

Woven  of  stars  and  winds,  I  pressed, 
And  felt  his  glory  on  my  face. 

When,  lo,  along  my  hurrying  way 

A  shining  fillet  he  had  lost, 
Or,  sooth,  another  sphere,  a  star 

That  into  being  he  had  tost. 

A  ball  of  swirling  fire,  fierce  waves 

Of  molten  jewels  leaping  fast 
And  shattering  crests  of  flame  and  jets 

Of  kindling  spume,  I  saw  and  passed. 


of  ages,  and  again 
On  my  parabolas  I  swept 
Where,  lapped  in  opalescent  films, 

The  fire-ball  rolled  and,  dreaming,  slept. 

And  yet  new  ages,  and  I  saw 

In  green  of  vasty  forest  shade 
That  sphere  enfolded,  and  in  seas 
Where  nameless  monsters  plunged  and  played. 

56 


THE  TRYST 


Once  more  from  darks  and  deeps  of  space 
To  meet  my  mighty  love  I  sprung  : 

Lo,  the  blue  sky,  the  fleecy  cloud  ; 

Mooned  with  soft  light  the  planet  swung. 

And  there  were  temples  on  the  heights, 
And  homes  beneath  the  fruited  trees, 

And  never  had  I  seen  before 
Beings  so  beautiful  as  these. 

They  blushed,   they   smiled,  they    laughed,   they 
loved  ;  — 

Fain  would  I  pause  before  I  pass. 
What  songs  they  sang !     But  then  what  tears 

They  wept  !     And  there  were  graves,  alas  ! 

Born  of  that  whorl  of  fire-mist,  now 

A  little  less  than  gods,  they  sought 
In  vain  the  secret  of  the  stars, 

The  mystery  of  their  own  thought. 

Away,  away  !     Tremendous  whiles 

Shall  lapse  ;  but  one  day,  seamed  and  charred, 

I  find  this  soft  and  gleaming  world 
A  shrunken  ball,  a  lifeless  shard. 

And  when  at  last,  perchance,  I  come, 

The  elemental  force  withdrawn, 
Of  light,  of  heat,  of  motion,  life, 

In  that  place  Nothingness  shall  yawn. 

57 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Away  !     My  master  and  my  lord, 
Still  drawn  by  thy  almighty  will, 

Though  worlds  be  born  in  purple  depths, 
Though  worlds  shall  fail,  I  seek  thee  still. 

What  shudder  sways  me  ?  ah,  what  chill 
Shakes  all  my  splendor  as  I  flee  ? 

Can  loss  like  that  be  ours  ?     Oh,  love, 
Can  that  fate  fall  on  such  as  we  ? 


THE    STORY    OF   THE   ICEBERG 

HOW  weary  the  ice-river  grew 
In  those  dark  months  of  winter  night, 
And,  poised  upon  his  lofty  cliff, 

Longed,  longed,  for  other  worlds  and  flight. 

What  use  was  all  his  mighty  mould, 
With  none  to  wonder  and  admire 

The  light  and  color  that  he  held, 

The  moonstone  gleam,  the  opal  fire! 

In  vain  the  mother  glacier  showed 
Pale  altars  answering  with  cold  rites 

The  flashes  of  eternal  stars, 

The  lances  of  the  northern  lights ; 

A  band  of  sunbeams  came  that  way, 

Tempted,  and  touched,  and  lured  him  on, - 

Wild  dreams  of  suns  and  southern  skies,  — 
A  wrench,  a  plunge,  and  he  was  gone. 
58 


THE   STORY   OF   THE   ICEBERG 


With  swift  embrace  the  billows  swelled 
To  meet  him,  leaping  twice  and  thrice 

In  thunder,  ere  they  led  him  forth, 
King  of  a  world  of  floating  ice. 

Down,  down,  by  viewless  currents  drawn, 
His  huge  mass  underneath  the  sea, 

His  lofty  tops  enskyed,  he  moved 
Like  some  vast  fleet  in  majesty,  — 

Out  from  the  dark,  mysterious  North, 
With  all  its  glamour,  every  night 

Tingling  with  unforgotten  dreams, 
And  every  day  flood-full  of  light. 

The  white  bear  slumbered  in  his  caves ; 

The  sunbeams  played  about  his  tips  ; 
Down,  down  he  bore  to  summer  seas 

And  crashed  his  way  through  sinking  ships. 

And  drowning  sailors  saw  on  high 
Those  icy  walls  where  surges  tossed, 

Descended  out  of  heaven,  a  pile 
Of  jewelled  splendor  fired  in  frost. 

Lapis  and  turquois  pierced  with  light 
To  sapphire,  emerald  hollows  paled 

To  beryl,  topaz  burning  clear 
In  flames  of  chrysolite,  he  sailed. 

59 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Down,  down  to  equatorial  seas 

Still  slowly  drifting, — ah,  how  sweet 

These  soft  caresses  of  the  tide 
Far  in  the  depths  about  his  feet ! 

How  tenderly  this  morning  gleam 

Saluted  all  his  shining  spires, 
That  far  away  the  voyager  saw 

Tipped  with  the  blaze  of  ruby  fires  ! 

How  ardently  through  warm  south  winds 

The  stresses  of  the  noontide  beat, 
Till  brooks  burst  forth  far  up  his  sides, 

Dissolving  in  a  fervent  heat. 

Now  plumed  with  streaming  smoke  he  went, 

Now  but  a  cloud  of  amethyst, 
The  ghost  of  glory,  weird  and  white, 

Now  wrapt  within  a  world  of  mist. 

The  sweet  and  treacherous  currents  still 
Around  his  weakening  bases  whirled, 

The  great  throat  of  the  hurricane 

Tremendous  blasts  against  him  hurled. 

Into  blue  air  he  crept ;  and  now 

Those  sunbeams  armed  with  javelins  swarmed, 
A  hostile  legion,  fierce  and  fain, 
And  all  his  awful  beauty  stormed. 
60 


THE   MAKING  OF  THE   PEARL 


Ah,  for  that  dim,  dark  home  once  more, 
Those  lances  of  the  northern  lights ! 

Then  his  tops  bent  them  to  their  fall, 

The  wide  seas  rose  and  drowned  his  heights. 

And,  but  a  hulk  of  crumbling  ice, 
Within  the  deep  he  found  his  grave, 

Stranded  upon  a  hidden  key, 

And  washed  to  nothing  by  a  wave. 


THE   MAKING   OF  THE   PEARL 

SO  soft,  so  warm,  the  water  lay, 
Its  chambers  paved  with  amberous  lights, 
The  sunbeams  sliding  there  forgot 

Their  home  among  the  skyey  heights. 

With  the  rose-tangle's  stems  they  played, 
They  blushed  beneath  the  purple  dulse, 

They  swung  from  tide  to  tide,  and  gave 
All  swimming  things  their  joyous  pulse. 

The  little  creature  at  their  touch 

Felt  the  fresh  force  of  gathering  cells, 

And  happy  seemed  this  rhythmic  life 

That  swept  its  currents  through  his  shells. 

Happy  the  swell  of  bay  and  bight 
Dimpling  with  kisses  of  a  wind 

Blown  from  the  royal  cinnamon, 
From  jasmine  and  from  tamarind. 

61 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Happy  the  shadow  of  the  palms 

Seemed  to  him,  wavering  o'er  his  reef, 

Happy  the  rippling  scarf  of  light 
Tossed  from  the  long  banana  leaf. 

Firmer  he  fixed  him  to  his  rock, 

And  wider  opened  to  the  tide 
That  softly  rose,  and  fell,  and  left 

A  grain  of  sand  along  his  side. 

A  tiny  rasping  grain  of  sand 

It  was,  whose  never-ceasing  prick 

Dispelled  the  charm  of  summer  seas 
And  pierced  him  to  the  very  quick. 

Ah,  what  a  world  of  trouble  now! 

But  straight  he  bent  him  to  the  strife, 
And  poured  around  that  hostile  thing 

The  precious  ichor  of  his  life. 

And  storms  could  stoop  and  stir  the  deeps 
To  blackness,  but  he  heeded  not,  — 

The  universe  had  nothing  now 
For  him  but  that  one  fatal  spot. 

The  color  of  the  foam,  the  light 
Of  heaven  across  translucent  seas, 

Flicker  of  wings  and  silver  scales,  — 

He  wrapped  the  pain  with  things  like  these. 
62 


THE   MAKING   OF   THE   PEARL 


A  trail  of  jewels  in  the  gleam 

The  dolphins  dart,  above,  below, 

With  sinuous  side  and  silvery  flash, 
Roll  a  great  eye  on  him  and  go. 

He  saw  them  only  as  he  felt 

Sore  scathe  beneath  his  mantle  lay, 

And  mending  as  he  could  his  hurt 
He  spent  himself  day  after  day. 

Or  halcyons  rocking  on  the  wave, 

Or  sailing  birds  of  Paradise, 
Softly  their  plumes  swept  upper  air, 

Idly  his  ooze  received  their  dyes. 

And  summer  moons  might  draw  the  floods 
With  their  white  magic  and  wide  calm 

Shed  from  the  wells  of  midnight  blue,  — 
He  knew  but  never  felt  their  balm. 

And  as  some  singer's  bitterest  woe 
Has  fed  the  song  we  love  to  hear, 

So  all  the  trouble  of  his  life 
Was  glorified  in  this  one  tear. 

What  mattered  then  the  swarthy  shape 

That  cleft  the  wave  with  plunge  and  whirl 

And  snatched  him  into  death  and  doom  ? 
His  life  was  lived  in  that  great  pearl. 

63 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


On  some  queen's  breast  it  heaves,  it  falls, 
Changing  with  every  breath  its  hue, 

Sunshine  and  sea  and  moon  are  there, 
The  sorrow  of  a  lifetime,  too  ! 


THE   UNDER   LIFE 

CLEAR  were  the  waters  of  the  Gulf 
As  some  great  crystal's  lucent  play, 
Clear  as  the  tides  of  lustrous  air 
That  wash  about  the  breaking  day. 

And  leaning  o'er  the  boat  she  saw, 

Where  the  dull  green  sea-apron  grows, 

Wattling  of  sunbeams,  netted  flames 
Of  liquid  blue,  of  tender  rose. 

The  purple  mussel  there  she  saw, 
And  saw  the  coral-tree  uplift 

Stems  of  white  blossom-stars  across 
The  shells  of  many  a  rainbowed  drift. 

She  saw  the  sea-anemones 

Parting  their  petals  in  each  cleft, 

And  on  the  spangled  floor  the  wreck 
The  pearly  nautilus  had  left. 

And  fairy  fountains  in  the  sea, 

She  saw  the  live  sponge  playing  there, 
And  passing,  sighed  for  very  joy 

Of  life  and  beauty  everywhere. 
64 


THE   UNDER   LIFE 


Long  since  into  those  pleasant  depths 

Swam  lightly  forth  the  new-born  sponge, 

Glad  of  his  life  far  underneath 

The  long  wave's  melancholy  plunge. 

The  suckling  of  the  generous  flood, 
Freely  he  went,  till  when  the  ledge 

Splintered  and  shelved  he  made  him  fast 
Where  many  currents  swept  the  edge. 

Their  heavy  folds  his  kindred  swayed 
Dreamily  round  his  dwelling-place, 

Lifted  their  golden  cups,  and  wove 
Their  fragile  fans  of  rosy  lace. 

And  drawing  in  and  out  the  streams 

Of  the  life-laden  sea,  he  fed, 
His  silken  fibres  spun,  and  all 

His  tissues  filled  and  overspread. 

Doubtless  he  felt  fate's  perfect  flower 

Bloomed  there  in  his  dim  growth  and  dense 

No  phantom  came  to  give  him  dream 
Of  more  through  any  unborn  sense. 

Yet,  in  the  gloom  of  chasing  clouds, 
Through  all  his  labyrinthine  ways, 

He  yearned  toward  light,  unsunned  by  gleam 
Of  lovelier  life,  of  wider  ways. 
5  65 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


What  wider  ways  for  him,  indeed, 
Till  aeons  swept  his  type  along  ? 

Blind,  blind  to  lovelier  life,  and  deaf 
To  whisper  of  an  ordered  song. 

His  powers,  the  shadow  of  his  needs, 
Answered  no  touch  of  outer  storms, 

No  sound  of  slipping  keels  above, 
No  light  of  over-leaning  forms. 

And  nothing  sketched  on  his  dark  wont 
Hint  of  the  rower's  rhythmic  grace, 

Hint  of  the  child  that  o'er  him  shed 
The  lovely  shining  of  her  face,  — 

She,  fairer  than  the  dawn  in  bloom, 
The  blue  of  heaven  within  her  eye, 

Her  hair  like  sunshine,  and  delight 
Of  conscious  being  in  her  sigh. 

The  ripple  swelled,  light  fell  the  oar, 

Her  hand  trailed  where  the  bubbles  swim ; 

She  passed  —  the  dull  sponge  never  knew 
That  such  a  being  smiled  on  him  ! 


THE    STORY    OF    THE    FLOWER 

A  SPOTLESS  thing  enough,  they  said, 
The  drift,  perchance,  from  foreign  lands, 
Washed  in  atop  of  mighty  tides 
And  lightly  left  along  the  sands. 
66 


THE   STORY   OF  THE   FLOWER 


Was  it  the  treasure  of  some  shell  ? 

Some  islander's  forgotten  bead  ? 
A  wave- worn  polyp  from  the  reef? 

The  gardener  said,  "  It  is  a  seed." 

"Bury  it,"  said  he,  "in  the  soil. 

The  earth  will  quicken  here,  as  there, 
With  vital  force  ;  —  so  fair  the  seed, 

The  blossom  must  be  wondrous  fair  ! ' ' 

Ah,  woe,  to  lose  the  ample  breath 
Of  the  salt  wastes  !     To  see  no  more 

The  sacrifice  of  morning  burn 

And  blot  the  stars  from  shore  to  shore. 

Ah,  woe,  to  go  into  the  dark  ! 

Was  it  for  this,  the  buoyant  slide 
Up  the  steep  surge,  the  flight  of  foam, 

The  great  propulsion  of  the  tide  ? 

To  lose  the  half-developed  dream 

Of  unknown  powers,  the  bursting  throe 

Of  destinies  to  be  fulfilled, 

And  go  into  the  dark  —  ah,  woe  ! 

But  the  mould  closed  above  the  seed 

Relentlessly  ;   and  still  as  well 
All  life  went  on  ;   the  warm  winds  blew ; 

The  strong  suns  shone ;  the  soft  rains  fell. 

67 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Whether  he  slept,  or  waited  there 

Unconscious,  after  that  wild  pang,  — 

Who  knows  ?     There  came  to  him  at  last 
A  sense  as  if  some  sweet  voice  sang ; 

As  if,  throughout  the  universe, 

Each  atom  were  obeying  law 
In  tuneful  order.      In  his  heart 

He  felt  the  same  deep  music  draw. 

And  one  sharp  thrill  of  tingling  warmth 

Divided  him  ;  as  if  the  earth 
Throbbed  through  him  all  her  stellar  might 

With  the  swift  pulse  of  some  new  birth. 

Up  the  long  spirals  of  his  stems 
What  currents  coming  from  afar, 

What  blessedness  of  being  broke,  — 
Was  he  a  blossom  or  a  star  ? 


Wings  like  their  own  the  great  moths  thought 
His  pinions  rippling  on  the  breeze,  — 

Did  ever  a  king's  banner  stream 

With  such  resplendent  stains  as  these  ? 

Over  what  honey  and  what  dew 
His  fragrant  gossamers  uncurled  ! 

Forgotten  be  that  seed's  poor  day, 
Free,  and  a  part  of  this  high  world  ! 
68 


THE   HOLY   LAND 


A  world  of  winds,  and  showers  aslant, 
With  gauzy  rainbows  everywhere, 

Cradled  in  silken  sunshine,  rocked 
In  skies  full  of  delicious  air  ! 

Ah,  happy  world,  where  all  things  live. 

Creatures  of  one  great  law,  indeed  ; 
Bound  by  strong  roots,  the  splendid  flower, 

Swept  by  great  seas,  the  drifting  seed ! 


THE    HOLY   LAND 

ARE  they  still  there  —  those  solemn  shapes, 
Those  mountains  swimming  in  the  light, 
The  rainbow  pulsing  in  the  cloud, 

The  torrent  tumbling  from  the  height  ? 

Ah,  many  a  twilight  when  I  heard 

My  mother  lingeringly  repeat 
Their  legends,  in  my  childish  mind 

I  put  the  shoes  from  off  my  feet. 

Over  the  plain  of  Mamre  then 

In  lovely  awe  I  softly  went, 
At  night  I  spelled  the  stars,  at  noon 

Sat  in  the  doorway  of  the  tent. 

Through  cloven  pass,  down  flying  lines, 
In  fire  and  cloud,  in  storm  and  stress, 

I  wandered  with  the  tribes  across 
The  desert  of  the  wilderness. 

69 


IN   TITIAN'S    GARDEN 


I  saw  the  tabernacle  then 

Its  blue  and  scarlet  curtains  blow  ; 
And  came  in  Zif,  the  blossom  month, 

Upon  the  palms  of  Jericho. 

I  trembled  at  the  answering  call 
From  Ebal  and  from  Gerizim  ; 

Far  in  the  temple  stood  beneath 
Vast  silent  golden  cherubim. 

The  high-priest's  bells  and  pomegranates 
Made  me  a  sweet  and  happy  din, 

And  from  the  porch  I  heard  the  blast 
Of  trumpets  blow  the  new  moon  in. 

How  fair  the  mountains  where  the  maids 
Went  mourning  four  days  in  the  year, 

While  haply  from  the  farther  slopes 
White  bulls  of  Bashan  bellowed  clear ! 

Sweet  the  high  pastures  where  one  cried, 
While  the  great  stars  fell  back  in  fiame, 

'  Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates  !  '   and  song 
Through  the  blue  blaze  of  morning  came. 

The  fire  fell  low  ;  I  felt  the  thrill 
Of  viewless  messengers,  the  room 

Grew  dark,  and  Hermon's  dome  of  snow 
Broke  forth  and  glistened  in  the  gloom. 

70 


THE   HOLY   LAND 


Gathered  the  dews,  the  trickling  brooks 

Ran  down,  and  swollen  with  many  streams, 

By  purpling  peaks,  by  valley  fords, 
The  Jordan  rolled  across  my  dreams. 

He  came,  the  Shepherd  of  the  Sheep, 
Who  knew  all  sorrow  that  there  is, 

And  up  and  down  the  land  I  went, 
My  little  hand  fast  held  in  his. 

And  sometimes  from  Bethesda's  pool 

A  slow  still  angel  stepped  to  me, 
And  sometimes  all  the  air  returned 

The  perfume  poured  at  Bethany. 

And  out  of  shores  of  far  delight, 

Bringing  great  dream,  great  memory, 

I  saw  the  stars  come  trembling  down 
Into  the  Sea  of  Galilee. 

Gray  were  the  leaves  of  Olivet, 
And  wet  Gethsemane's  dark  sod, 

And  love  and  tears  went  all  his  way, 
Or  were  he  man  or  were  he  God  ! 


And  still  for  me,  in  other  light, 

In  finer  air,  by  morn  or  even, 
A  place  of  dream,  the  Holy  Land 

Hangs  midway  between  earth  and  heaven. 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


THE   LEPERS 

7_7 'AS  fortune  found  you  out  too  /ate, 
J-  -i  With  none  to  enter  on  your  state  ? 
Has  love  saluted  you  while  death 
Hovers  to  snatch  the  failing  breath? 
Or  joy  come  only  when  the  will 
To  welcome  him  is  numbed  and  still, 
And  all  the  senses  at  their  close 
Are  withered  as  last  summer's  rose  ? 


There  were  four  lepers  at  the  Gate, 

All  day  they  sat  and  cursed  their  fate. 

For  them  there  were  no  woman's  smiles, 

No  children's  lips  and  joyous  wiles  ; 

No  blush  of  maiden,  and  no  hand 

To  soothe  the  ail,  flower-soft  and  bland ; 

An  aching  blotch  upon  the  scene, 

They  veiled  their  lips  and  cried,  "  Unclean  !  " 

Beneath  the  walls  in  sullen  pride 

The  hostile  camp  stretched  far  and  wide, 

The  pomp  and  power  of  Syria's  crown 

Beleaguering  the  royal  town, 

Till  in  the  dark  streets,  day  by  day, 

The  King  met  Famine,  gaunt  and  gray;  — 

Mothers  were  mad  and  sucklings  died  — 

"  Hunger  is  king,  not  I  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Come  !  "  said  the  lepers.      "  Let  us  go 
And  try  the  mercy  of  the  foe. 
72 


THE   LEPERS 


There  is  no  food  within  the  town  — 

We  can  but  die  if  we  go  down  — 

And  here  we  surely  die."     And  slow 

Down  to  the  camp  the  lepers  go, 

Perchance  a  crust  to  find,  perchance 

Wine  that  should  make  their  thick  blood  dance. 


The  twilight  ebbed  to  purple  dark  — 
How  still  the  great  plain  lay,  and  hark! 
These  captains,  used  to  war's  alarms, 
How  sound  they  sleep  upon  their  arms ! 
Nor  asses  bray,  nor  stallions  stamp, 
There  is  no  breath  in  all  the  camp  ; 
Struck  with  tumultuous  fright,  the  host 
Has  vanished  like  a  morning  ghost ! 

But  as  the  headlong  press  took  wings, 
Smote  by  the  fear  of  Desert  Kings 
Helping  Samaria,  where  they  flung 
The  golden  vessels  there  they  rung 
Still  vibrant ;  silver  armor  shone 
Like  moonbeams  on  the  stream  ;  a  throne 
Wanted  this  purple ;  and  these  gems 
Were  snatched  from  princes'  diadems. 

The  lepers  halt  them  there  alone  — 
The  gleaming  treasure  is  their  own  ! 
They  hug  the  jewelled  vase ;  they  seize 
The  splendid  raiment  as  they  please. 

73 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Till  suddenly,  with  burning  eyes, 
Each  stares  in  terrible  surprise  — 
Stained,  stained  with  their  eternal  soil, 
They  are  four  lepers  in  the  spoil  ! 


SONG   AND   THE   PROPHET'S   SOUL 

THEN  cried  the  King  of  Judah  to  the  others  — 
The  three  swart  kings  shaken  with  shuddering 

fear  — 
"  What    is    the   Lord's    will    with    our    way,    O 

Brothers ! 

Is  there  no  prophet  here  ?  " 
"  Alas  !  "  the  youth  a-fire  with  power,  a-shiver 
With    outland   gems,  had   wailed,    "  The   Lord 

this  three 
Hath  called  together  that  he  might  deliver 

Them  to  their  enemy  !  " 
For  fast  on  the  bright  edge  of  bitter  battle, 

Out  of  red  Edom,  Edom  the  accurst, 
In  the  dry  torrent-beds  the  hosts,  the  cattle, 
Were  perishing  of  thirst. 


A  blaze  of  wrath  and  doom,  the  waiting  prophet 
Towered  o'er  the   rock -rent  valley.      "Ask," 

he  cried, 
"The  seers  of  the  Sidonian  woman  of  it, 

Who  at  the  Kishon  died  !" 

For  like  great  seas  beneath  the  horned  moon  dark 
ening, 
74 


SONG   AND   THE   PROPHET'S   SOUL 


The  man  of  God  felt  all  his  spirit  swell, 
The  son  of  the  Phoenician  princess  hearkening  — 

That  fierce  Queen  Yzabel ! 
"  As  the  Lord  liveth,  but  for  Judah  pressing, 

Maker  of  gods,  I  would  not  look  toward  thee  ! 
Yet  for  his  sake  —  if  sooth  there  be  a  blessing  — 

The  minstrel  bring  to  me  !  " 


The  minstrel  played.     And  with  the  harp's  wide 
ringing 

Surely  that  moment  was  a  marvel  wrought, 
Seraphic  credence  in  serene  flight  winging 

The  prophet's  Heaven-domed  thought. 

There  swept  the  camel-train,  the  while  he  listened, 

Bearing  the  ancient  Priest  of  the  Most  High 
Where  the  long  lances  of  the  desert  glistened 

Coming  from  victory,  — 
Without  descent,  and  having  no  beginning 

Nor   end   of  life,  who   brought   the   bread   and 

wine 
To  the  young  chief  fresh  from  his  battle-winning, 

In  sacramental  sign. 

There  crossed  the  angels,  climbing  and  descending 
The  shining  ladder  leaning  on  a  flame ;  — 

There  one  in  darkness  with  the  Lord  pretending 
Wrestled  and  overcame. 

75 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


There  under  crystal  wall  and  crested  hollow 

Swings  out  the  sea-way  sundered  bare  and  broad, 
And  he  who  leads  where  all  the  pale  press  follow 

In  Horeb  spoke  with  God. 
Plunge  on,  plunge  on,  ye  golden  wheels,  ye  horses ! 

Pharaoh  and  princes,  drown  in  the  deep  sea  ! 
The  green  wave  curls  above  your  sunken  corses, 

My  host  pass  over  free  ! 

Then  throng  the  captains,  blustering  banners  blow 
ing, 

All  the  great  fathers  of  innumerous  lines, 
Long    breathe    the    horns,    hosannas     heavenward 

throwing, 

And  the  Shekinah  shines  ! 
Close  to  the  skies  they  range ;  by  morn  and  even 

Companion  God  !    For  them  the  lightnings  smite, 
For  them  the  suns  stand  still !     They  fight  from 

Heaven, 
Stars  in  their  courses  fight ! 

Soft  flows  the  tune.     And  all  along  the  mountains 
With  strangely  sweet  sufficing  songs  and  wild, 

The  white-scarfed  virgins  tell  the  shadowy  fountains 
The  wrong  of  Galaad's  child. 

Soft  !  for  he  hears  the  women  drawing  water 

And  singing  at  the  well,  "  Spring  up,  O  well  !  " 
The    deep,    cool    well  —  the    mother     sings,    the 

daughter, 

Through  peaceful  Israel. 
76 


SONG   AND   THE   PROPHET'S   SOUL 


Soft !  for  about  the  flock  what  clear  strains  dally 

And  soar  on  skimming  mists,  where  listening  far 
Over  the  blue  bloom  of  the  midnight  valley 

Trembles  the  wandering  star  ! 
Soft,  soft  !     The  beautiful  boy-shepherd  only 

Answer  these  echoes  from  the  mountain-wall, 
Low  the  unwilling  lion  far  and  lonely, 

And  the  dark  soul  of  Saul. 

How  full  it  throbs,  with  such  luxurious  warble 
They  heard  in  Tadmor  in  the  Wilderness, 

Stretched  upon  ivory  couches,  empire's  bauble 
Lavished  on  loveliness  ! 

Sound  low,  sound  hoarse,  O  melody  of  sorrow  ! 

As  sheep  that  have  no  shepherd,  scattered  wide, 
Homeless  my  people  stray  some  sad  to-morrow 

Far  from  their  country-side. 

Swell,  then,  with  Miriam's  timbrel,  silver-clashing, 

With  Ehud's  clarion,  with  Deborah's  chant! 
Sword  of  the  Lord  and  Gideon,  once  more  flashing, 

The  flying  desert  daunt ! 
Swell,  hymn  of  joy  !    The  men  of  war,  the  peerless, 

Loom  through  the  cloud — Manoah's  son,  the 

vast, 
And  he  that  hewed  the  Anakim,  and  fearless 

Shamgar,  that  thunderblast  ! 

And   the   three   mighty  men  who  plunged  down 
straightway 

77 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Through  the  dark  foe,  when  the  King  said  to  them, 
"  Oh  that  one  gave  me  water  from  the  gateway 

And  well  of  Bethlehem  !  " 
And  he,  the  mightiest,  whose  arms  have  broken 

The  bow  of  steel,  in  whose  tremendous  clasp 
The  giant's  brand  is  light,  who  holds  in  token 

The  kingdoms  in  his  grasp  ! 

Strong    rings    thy    sword,  thou    fair    of  eyes    and 
splendid  ! 

Stronger  thy  voice,  and  sweeter  rings  than  strong, 
Thou  where  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  descended 

When  the  heavens  dropped  with  song  ! 

Hath  any  god  such  men  as  this  great  seven, 

These  godlike  in  the  strength  of  their  desires  ? 
Hath  Ishtar,  with  her  blossom-moons  in  Heaven, 

Hath  Bel  with  all  his  fires  ? 
Swell,  O  supreme,  O  song  in  thy  glad  fitness, 

Thy  stormy  joys,  thy  heart-dissolving  pains  ! 
Long  since,  the  Lord  commanded  thee  a  witness 

On  Moab's  awful  plains  ! 
The  Lord  who  came  from  Sinai,  our  Defender, 

Who  rose  from  Seir,  and  out  of  Paran  shined, 
In  his  right  hand  a  fiery  law  whose  splendor 

Dazzled  the  heathen  blind  ! 

Break,  break,  ye  furthest  skies !  Lo,  flashing,  rending, 
The  Chariot  and  the  horsemen  !      And  the  hand 

Of  the  Lord  laid  on  me,  all  song  transcending  — 
Go !  And  possess  the  land  ! 

78 


TWO   ANGELS 


Fallen  was  the  music.      Still  the  jubilant  story 

Sang  on   there  as   the  wind   sang    through    the 

strings, 
And  into  spaces  flushed  with  solemn  glory 

Gazed  the  three  silent  kings  — 
Gazed  and  beheld,  in  conquering  alliance, 

Foreshadow  of  burnt-offering's  crimson  pall, 
Where  the  beleaguered  slew  in  mad  defiance 

His  firstborn  on  the  wall, 
And  gazing  saw  the  clouds  drip  blood  and  ashes  — 

The  awful  likeness  of  a  funeral  pyre  — 
The  heart  of  Heaven  burst  in  monstrous  flashes  — 

A  soul  go  up  in  fire  ! 


TWO   ANGELS 

TWO  angels  out  of  darkness  born, 
All  unaware  of  bloom  or  scathe, 
Hung  on  the  outer  edge  of  morn,  — 

And  one  was  Doubt,  and  one  was  Faith. 

Doubt  spread  his  gray  and  mighty  plume 
Beyond  the  bounds  of  space  and  night, 

And  round  dim  depths  and  gulfs  of  gloom 
Swept  with  an  ever-circling  flight. 

But  Faith,  with  eyes  that  only  knew 

Immeasurable  light  above, 
Sprang  upward  through  the  quivering  blue 

And  rested  in  the  heart  of  Love. 

79 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


BY   NIGHT 

SHE  leaned  out  into  the  midnight, 
And  the  summer  wind  went  by, 
The  scent  of  the  rose  on  its  silken  wing 
And  a  song  its  sigh. 

Deep  in  the  tarn  the  mountain 

A  mighty  phantom  gleamed, 
Shadow  and  silver  the  floating  cloud 

Over  it  streamed. 

And,  in  depths  below,  the  waters 

Answered  some  mystic  height, 
As  a  star  stooped  out  of  the  depths  above 

With  its  lance  of  light. 

And  she  thought,  in  the  dark  and  the  fragrance, 

How  vast  was  the  wonder  wrought 
If  the  sweet  world  were  but  the  beauty  born 

In  its  Maker's  thought. 

And  up  from  the  tarn  and  its  phantom 

Wandered  her  weary  glance 
Where  that  star,  as  the  awful  ranks  wheeled  by, 

Held  its  shining  lance. 

And  a  sudden  sweetness  of  sorrow 

From  the  far  lone  whip-poor-will 
Touched   her  to   tears,  while   she   searched   those 

depths, 

Cavernous  —  sail. 
80 


A    WEED 


Was  there  love  in  those  infinite  spaces? 

Was  there  life  for  the  life  dropped  here  ? 
Oh,  what  was  the  way  to  the  life  and  love 

Of  that  unknown  sphere  ! 

Then  star  over  star  stood  marshalled, 
White  splendor  beyond  them  broke, 

And  a  door  was  opened  in  heaven  there 
While  she  blindly  spoke. 

And  a  gladness  dearer  than  dreaming 
Filled  the  heart  that  was  sad  and  sore, 

And  almost  she  heard  a  murmuring  voice, 
"I  am  the  Door." 


A    WEED 

I  AM  so  small  on  this  great  scale 
Of  moons  and  suns  and  cosmic  ways, 
I  am  so  poor  in  all  that  rears 

The  treasure  of  transcendent  days, 
I  am  so  stained  if  any  see 

The  shrinking  soul  in  heaven's  white  blaze ! 

So  small,  alas,  so  poor,  so  stained,  — 

What  glance  that  meets  the  idle  soul  ^ 

Can  linger  there  with  least  delight, 
Nor  spurn  it  with  a  beggar's  dole  ? 

Can  heavenly  help  to  feed  it  flow, 
Can  heavenly  love  about  it  roll  ? 

6  81 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


And  going  sadly  on  my  way 
A  little  flower  looks  up  at  me, 

A  worthless  weed  beside  the  path, 
That  has  no  honey  for  the  bee, 

Nor  any  beauty  that  the  eye, 

The  thrall  of  beauty,  waits  to  see. 

Because  I  am  as  worthless  too, 
I  pluck  the  thing  that  has  no  use 

Nor  loveliness.     Its  fainting  breath 
Makes  for  a  moment  half  excuse  — 

Lo,  the  precision  of  its  lines 
Star  orbits  to  a  leaf  reduce  ! 


Over  its  face  the  twilight  tints 

Are  painted,  evening  skies  less  fair. 

How  lightly  swept  the  master-hand 
To  make  that  petal  melt  in  air ! 

What  subtle  thought  was  crowded  here, 
How  exquisite  the  procreant  care  ! 

The  golden  eye  of  day  is  not 

More  golden  than  its  heart  set  free ! 

What  spent  itself  on  this  small  flower? 
What  sends  its  brief  felicity  ? 

What  lavish  to  a  worthless  weed 
Shall  not  as  lavish  be  to  me  ! 


82 


SCRIPTURE 


SCRIPTURE 

AGAINST  the  sky  the  frolic  spray 
Tossing  a  mesh  of  twinkling  lines ; 
Buds,  where  at  dewy  dawn  of  day 
The  inner  dream  of  color  shines  ; 
Heaven  midmost  of  the  forest  dells 
Painted  within  the  lake's  deep  cup  ; 
The  glamour  where  the  dim  sea  swells 
And  lets  the  moon  swim  slowly  up  ; 
The  blowing  showers  that  slip  and  go, 
The  azure  shadows  of  the  snow, 
The  mist  that  drifts  by  cliffs  and  scars, 
The  great  processional  of  stars, 
Write  me  the  blazon  everywhere, 
On  blue  and  interfluent  air, 
Lustre  of  leaf  and  sheen  of  sod, 
That  beauty  is  the  thought  of  God. 


The  morning  murmur  of  the  bees  — 

The  hum  of  wing  and  sunshine  blent ; 

The  summer  wind  among  the  trees 

In  happy  fulness  of  content ; 

Music  of  dying  thunders'  roll 

Down  cloudy  gulf  and  cloven  shelf; 

Echo,  sweet  Echo,  like  a  soul 

Singing,  still  singing,  to  herself; 

The  undefined  and  air-drawn  spells, 

At  evenfall,  of  distant  bells  ; 

That  white  flower  blown  in  dark  and  hush  - 

Song  only,  and  the  hermit  thrush  ; 

83 


IN   TITIAN'S    GARDEN 


The  winding  horn,  the  subtler  tune 
Of  fluting  voices,  read  the  rune, 
With  wash  of  wave  and  thrill  of  clod, 
That  beauty  is  the  thought  of  God. 


The  pristine  innocence  that  meets 

Pure  passion  with  a  darkling  kiss, 

And  in  his  purple  mantle  fleets 

Down  islands  of  immortal  bliss ; 

The  smiles  that  on  the  hurt  thing  fall 

As  tenderly  as  dove's  wings  furl 

About  their  nestling  ;  and  withal 

The  pity  lying  like  a  pearl 

Deep  in  the  heart ;  the  strength  that  yearns 

In  mothers,  and  in  heroes  burns ; 

The  love  that  lives  for  love  —  that  dies ; 

The  awful  joy  of  sacrifice  ; 

Inform  the  answering  consciousness  — 

As  white  fire  through  the  starry  press 

Of  heaven  runs  with  silence  shod  — 

That  beauty  is  the  thought  of  God. 


CLAIRVOYANCE 

DARK  the  shadows  close  round  my  sad  spirit, 
Encamped  in  their  terrible  power, 
Encamped  like  an  army  besetting 

Some  desolate  tower. 

There  is  naught,  my  soul  murmurs,  but  sorrow,  — 
What  eager  endeavor  shall  dare 
84 


CLAIRVOYANCE 


These  shadows  that  raise  their  fell  standard 

To  mantle  the  air, 
Blown  out  by  the  black  breath  of  boding 

Of  death  and  despair. 

Then  suddenly  into  the  darkness, 

Like  the  northern  lights'  radiance,  streams 
The  tale  that  I  read  in  my  childhood, 

That  swept  through  my  dreams, 
With  cohorts  of  angels,  and  squadrons 

Of  stars  with  their  spears  all  one  way, 
Fading  out  in  a  wan  and  white  splendor 

At  the  gray  break  of  day, 
Half  guessed  in  the  lustre  of  noontide, 

Half  glimpsed  in  my  play. 

For,  behold,  the  great  prophet  was  lying 

Hid  away  in  the  dim  city's  bound, 
And  the  Syrian  King  sent  the  Captains 

To  compass  him  round, 
With  the  strong  men  of  war,  and  their  chariots, 

And  the  host  of  the  horsemen  and  foot, 
The  treasure  of  scarlet,  the  slave  girls 

With  shawm  and  with  flute, 
The  bowmen,  the  slingers,  the  lances 

In  flashing  pursuit. 

How  fair  lay  the  land  as  the  evening 

Shed  there  its  sighing  surcease, 
And  night-fall  and  dew-fall  had  spread  there 

The  purple  of  peace. 

85 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


How  sweet  the  song  rose  from  the  housetop, 

The  tinkle  far  off  from  the  fold, 
While  in  dim  depths  all  star-sown  the  mountain 

Still  soared  rose  and  gold. 
What  hush  lay  beneath  the  dark  rampart, 

What  balm  the  breeze  rolled  ! 


But  when  sunrise  struck  up  from  the  deserts 

A  ray  like  the  blade  of  a  sword, 
Whose  crests  were  these  set  to  salute  it, 

Whose  tents  were  this  horde, 
And  wet  with  the  morning  whose  banners, 

That  light  winds  went  ruffling,  were  they, 
Whose  javelins,  whose  shields,  still  pressed  forward, 

Whose  cries  rent  their  way 
Through  the  glitter  and  tumult  to  vanquish 

One  man  old  and  gray  ! 


Then  the  youth  who  was  staff  to  the  seer 

Fared  forth  in  the  fresh  early  hour, 
And  his  heart  burst  within  him  confronting 

The  Assyrian  power. 
But  the  clear-seeing  prophet  cried,  "  Fear  not ! 

For  they  that  be  with  us  are  more 
Than  they  that  be  with  them  !  "      And  praying, 

Bade  turn  him  where  frore 
All  the  dells  and  the  horns  of  the  mountain 

With  dew  were  yet  hoar. 
86 


THE   HEAVENLY   CAMP 


There  the  opaline  cloud  slowly  lifting, 

The  rock  darkly  dripping,  and  there  — 
Lo,  the  chariots  of  fire  !     Lo,  a  mightier 

Encampment  lay  bare ! 
Shod  with  lightning,  and  clothed  with  the  thunder, 

The  horse  reared,  and  poised  for  vast  flight, 
Troops  of  stars  on  their  spear-heads,  receding 

In  infinite  light, 
Archangels  in  phalanx  of  glory 

Burned  silent  and  white. 

The  chariots  of  fire,  and  the  horsemen  ! 

Shall  the  lad  in  his  innocence  see 
The  help  of  the  hills,  and  shall  nature 

Deny  it  to  me  ? 
Oh,  shadows  that  close  round  my  spirit 

In  the  clefts  of  the  rocks  haste  and  hide  ! 
For  me,  too,  the  mountain  is  trembling 

Where  heaven's  hosts  abide, 
Great  forces  are  thrilling  and  arming,  — 

God  fights  on  my  side  ! 


THE    HEAVENLY    CAMP 

ACROSS  the  open  window  blows 
The  languorous  breathing  of  the  rose, 
The  young  moon  drops  its  ruddy  spark 
Behind  the  wood,  and  all  is  dark. 
Through  dreamy  hush  the  river  goes, 
The  purple  opens  as  it  flows, 
And  larger  heavens  their  depths  disclose. 

87 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Forth  in  the  night  I  fare,  while  slow 
The  still  translucent  spaces  grow 
Out  of  their  midnight  bloom,  as  clear 
As  one  great  jewel,  sphere  o'er  sphere, 
Till  tender  splendors  shed  their  glow 
Far  off  and  infinite,  as  though 
They  veiled  some  unknown  country  so. 

Fain  would  my  wish  the  seas  explore 
That  break  upon  that  farther  shore 
In  silent  thunders,  and  immerse 
From  universe  to  universe 
My  being,  till  at  last  I  pour 
My  love,  my  longing  out  before 
The  Love  that  lives  forevermore. 

The  swift  dawn  comes,  a  rosy  flare, 
And  shuts  me  with  my  hope,  my  care, 
In  the  dear  world  of  glancing  dew, 
Of  blossom-bough  and  velvet  blue. 
Yet  yonder  hangs  diviner  air, 
And  all  day  long  I  breathe  aware 
The  country  of  the  Lord  is  there. 


EQUATIONS 

YOU  so  sure  the  world  is  full  of  laughter, 
Not  a  place  in  it  for  any  sorrow, 
Sunshine  with  no  shadow  to  come  after  — 
Wait,  O  mad  one,  wait  until  to-morrow  ! 
88 


THE   STAR   IN   THE   EAST 


You  so  sure  the  world  is  full  of  weeping, 
Only  gloom  in  all  the  colors  seven, 

Every  wind  across  a  new  grave  creeping  — 
Think,  O  sad  one,  yesterday  was  heaven  ! 


Young  and  strong  I  went  along  the  highway, 
Seeking  Joy  from  happy  sky  to  sky  ; 

I  met  Sorrow  coming  down  a  byway,  — 
What  had  she  to  do  with  such  as  I  ? 

Sorrow  with  a  slow  detaining  gesture 
Waited  for  me  on  the  widening  way, 

Threw  aside  her  shrouding  veil  and  vesture,  - 
Joy  had  turned  to  Sorrow's  self  that  day  ! 


If  some  great  giver  give  me  life, 

And  give  me  love,  and  give  me  double, 

Shall  I  not  also  at  his  hand 
Take  trouble  ? 

And  if  through  awful  gloom  I  see 

The  lightnings  of  his  great  will  thrusting, 

Shall  I  not,  dying  at  his  hand, 
Die  trusting  ? 

THE    STAR    IN    THE   EAST 

FROM  hoary  kingdoms  of  all  ancientness, 
Led  by  a  Star  they  came,  — 
A  Star  that  dimmed  the  lustre  of  the  heavens 
Shaking  their  fleece  of  flame  ! 

89 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


A  splendid  caravan,  from  desert  depths 

They  flashed  their  royal  way  ; 
Gold  wrought,  in  all  strange  charactery  and  gems 

Their  housings  caught  the  ray. 

The  shining  stallions  arched  their  necks  and  rang 

Their  jewelled  bridle-reins ; 
The  stately  camels  stretched  like  monoliths 

Their  shadows  on  the  plains. 

Treasure  of  perfumes  and  of  precious  stones 
Weighed  them,  and  wondrous  web 

Of  scarlet  cloths  woven  at  the  wane  of  moon 
And  at  the  great  sea's  ebb  ; 

And  oils,  and  gums,  the  ooze  of  sacred  trees 

In  sun-imprisoning  flecks, 
And  in  their  lamps  the  fire  not  once  relit 

Since  priest  Melchizedek's. 

There  little  Melchior,  King  of  Nubia,  came 

With  gold  to  signify 
Possession  of  the  empire  of  the  earth 

And  kingship's  prophecy. 

And  Chaldaea's  monarch,  the  old  Balthazar, 

Brought  incense,  for  a  sign 
That  prayer  and  praise  should  find  divinity 

In  manger  or  in  shrine. 
90 


THE   STAR   IN   THE   EAST 


But  Jasper,  black,  and  of  a  mighty  make, 

And  of  rich  Tarshish  king, 

Brought    neither    gold    nor    incense,    but    brought 
myrrh, 

For  human  suffering. 

And  with  them,  and  before  them,  the  great  Star, 

That  up  the  eastern  coasts, 
Outstripping  comets  and  white-bearded  orbs, 

Came  leading  heaven's  hosts. 

While  all  black  art  of  dark  astrology, 

With  incantations  gray 
That  signs  and  zodiacs  trembled  to  regard, 

Showed  where  the  young  child  lay,  — 

The  young  child,  who,  not  yet  a  fortnight  old, 

Among  the  oxen  slept, 
Where  angels  hung  upon  a  drooping  wing, 

And  all  the  sweet  watch  kept. 

Chiefs  of  old  heathenry,  how  long,  how  far, 

They  journeyed  on  their  quest  ! 
What  tribute  and  what  treasure  did  they  bring 

To  greet  the  holy  guest ! 

What  costly  travel  and  what  toilsome  march 

Were  theirs,  too,  —  that  great  press 
Which  followed  on  the  way  the  Magi  led 

Up  from  the  wilderness  ! 

91 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


But  we,  on  whom  for  twice  a  thousand  years 
The  Star  in  the  East  has  shone,  — 

What  hard  road  do  we  tread  with  tender  feet 
To  make  the  truth  our  own  ? 

Up  from  what  deserts  do  we  hotly  spur 

To  consecrate  our  King  ? 
To  God,  in  Christ  or  in  Humanity, 

What  tribute  do  we  bring  ? 

We  look  on  the  immensity  of  space, 

And  count  all  creeds  a  song  ; 
We  let  the  dungeoned  prisoner  write  in  blood 

The  story  of  his  wrong. 

So  we  but  lose  no  bubble  of  the  wine, 

In  the  rose  crush  no  sting, 
We  care  not  for  the  pierced  divinity,  — 

We  crown  the  senses  King  ! 

Brief  empery,  that  with  the  bubble  breaks, 
With  the  rose  falls  !  whose  slaves 

Shall  revel  then  but  with  the  loathly  worm 
And  the  dark  fruit  of  graves ! 

Dart  forth  your  white  and  awful  light,  O  Star, 

Wither  this  King  to  dross  ! 
Lead  us  a  path  like  that  once  trod  the  feet 

Were  nailed  upon  a  cross  ! 

92 


PHILLIPS   BROOKS 


JAMES    RUSSELL   LOWELL 

DYING,  he  dreamed  he  entertained  a  King. 
He  opened  wide  those  wondrous    eyes    that 

burned 

With  heaven's  own  lightning,  all  his  thought  con 
cerned 

To  greet  the  royal  presence.      Not  that  thing 
Of  mortal  birth,  and  for  a  moment  crowned 
Within  a  gemmy  bauble's  glittering  bound, 
But  One  for  whom  gates  sempiternal  swing, 
But  One  the  lifting  of  whose  deathless  wing 
Disclosed  the  Infinite  toward  which  he  yearned. 

O  poet  !  you  who  saw,  O  spirit  strong, 
Beyond  the  walls  of  sense,  as  they  whose  sight 
Is  interpenetrate  with  quickening  light, 
Who  caught  the  meaning  of  seraphic  song 
And  made  it  earthly  music,  born  of  sound, 
Far,  and  more  ancient  than  the  rosy  round 
Of  morning,  you  indeed  saw  Sovereign  Might 
Fill  all  your  dying  chamber  with  delight 
And  lead  you  to  the  realm  where  you  belong  ! 


PHILLIPS   BROOKS 

PERHAPS  we  do  not  know  how  much  of  God 
Was  walking  with  us. 

Surely  not  forlorn 

Are  men,  when  such  great  overflow  of  heaven 
Brings  down  the  light  of  the  eternal  morn 

93 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Into  the  earth's  deep  shadows,  where  they  plod, 
The  slaves  of  sorrow. 

Something  of  divine 
Was  in  his  nature,  open  to  the  source 
Of  love,  that  master  of  primeval  force, 
As,  answering  freshly  their  unfailing  sign, 
To  the  early  and  the  latter  rain  the  sod 
Lies  bare,  and  drinking  in  by  morn  and  even 
The  precious  dews  that  lift  it  into  flower 
Distilled  again  in  fragrance  every  hour. 

I  think  if  Jesus,  whom  he  loved  as  Lord, 
Were  here  again,  in  such  guise  might  He  go, 
So  bind  all  creeds  as  with  a  golden  cord, 
So  with  the  saint  speak,  with  the  sinner  so. 
And  then  remembering  all  the  torrent's  rush 
Of  praise  and  blessing  o'er  the  listening  hush, 
Remembering  the  lightning  of  the  glance, 
Remembering  the  lifted  countenance 
White  with  the  prophet's  glory  that  it  wore, 
With  the  Holy  Spirit  shining  through  the  clay, 
Prophet  —  yea,  I  say  unto  you,  and  more 
Than  a  prophet  was  with  us  but  yesterday ! 


THE   KNIGHT   OF   PENTECOST 

PRONE  as  he  lay  before  the  dim,  high  altar, 
No  strain  of  any  solemn  prayer  or  psalter 
Disquieted  the  stillness  of  the  night ; 
No  long  roll  of  the  organ's  golden  thunder, 
No  voices,  keyed  to  sweet  and  joyous  wonder, 
Fled  like  a  flight  of  angels  into  light. 
94 


THE   KNIGHT   OF   PENTECOST 


The  painted  panes  of  the  rose- window  sparkled 
A  moment,  as  some  cold  star  shone  and  darkled, 

And  awful  shadows  filled  the  vaulted  space. 
Prone  on  the  flint  he  lay  and  kept  his  vigil, 
All  his  soul  waiting  for  the  sign  and  sigil 

That  should  appoint  him  to  his  knightly  place. 

Nor  sound  nor  silence,  light  nor  dark,  he  noted. 
Up  from  the  under-world  the  slow  moon  floated, 
And    looked    upon   the  trance    that    held    him 

there  ; 
With  half  her  snowy  glimmer  stooped  and  wrapped 

him  : 
Naught  knew  he  of  the  gracious  bloom  that  lapped 

him ; 
He  waited  flame  more  glorious,  sight  more  fair. 

Far,  far,   the  night  swept  on  through  deeps    un 
broken, 
While  his  thought,  seeking  the  supremest  token, 

Mounted  among  unknown  infinitudes, 
Where  still  beyond  his  dreaming  or  his  seeing 
The  Soul  that  fills  the  universe  with  being 

Above  all  calm,  above  all  tumult,  broods. 

As  if  a  star  burst,  with  a  clang  of  warning 
The  great  bell  tolled  the  holy  hour  of  morning  : 

No  blessed  chrism  had  found  him  where  he  lay. 
He  rose  like  one  long  worn  with  weary  marches, 
And,  passing  underneath  the  heavy  arches, 

He  came  out  to  the  open  break  of  day. 

95 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Wide,  wide,  the  wash  of  the  free  air  was  flowing, 
And  high  the  soft  gray  flower  of  dawn  was  blow 
ing, 
Fresh,  fresh,   the  dewy  wind  that    sighed    and 

ceased ! 

Into  eternal  heavens  the  heaven  was  lifting, 
Light,  radiant  light,  across  the  world  was  sifting, 
The  fire  burned  on  the  altar  of  the  east. 

Not  in  the  dark  the  tongue  of  flame  came  leaping 
Upon  his  lips,  across  his  forehead  sweeping  ; 

Not  prostrate  in  great  glooms  of  temple  shade  : 
But  while  he  gazed,  one  only  with  his  Master, 
In  deathless  circles  swelling  vast  and  vaster, 

The  dawn,  swift- sworded,  flashed  his  accolade. 

Glory  of  argent  space  all  space  ensphering  ! 
Sweeter  than  sound  a  voice  surpassed  his  hearing  ! 

Close  on  his  heart  he  felt  great  pulses  swim  ! 
He  knew  not  as  he  stood  there,  trembling,  yearn 
ing, 
All  heaven  about  him  in  that  moment  burning, 

That  spirits  came  and  ministered  to  him. 

Weapons  of  skyey  temper  had  they  wrought  him, 
Deific  armor  from  afar  they  brought  him, 

And  bound  it  on  with  touches  swift  and  fine. 
There  stood  the  good  steed  ready  for  his  guiding, 
Through  the  dark  places  of  the  sad  land  riding, 

Light  for  the  watchword,  Love  the  countersign. 
96 


THE    PRAYER    OF   IBN    GEBIROL 


A  mighty  shape,  scarfed  with  the  sun  uprisen, 
Where  tears  distilled,  where  spirits  were  in  prison, 

Where  doubt  went  groping,  and  where  dolor  lay, 
Where  in  despairing  death  the  dying  languished, 
Wherever  sin,  wherever  suffering  anguished, 

He  in  their  service  took  his  shining  way. 

And  soaring,  an  aerial  apparition, 
Ever  before  him  hung  a  splendid  vision, 

Where,  far  within  the  sapphire  crystalline, 
Unstained  by  wrong,  unspotted  by  a  sorrow, 
The  sweet  earth  floated  in  a  gleaming  morrow, 

And  joy  welled  through  it  from  the  heart  divine. 

Full  of  the  word  that  made  the  sunlit  weather, 
Full  of  the  strength  that  holds  the  stars  together, 

White  with  the  whiteness  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
By  all  the  forces  of  the  day  surrounded, 
Then  rode  he  forth,  his  trump  of  onset  sounded, 

All  sacrosanct,  a  Knight  of  Pentecost. 


THE    PRAYER    OF   IBN    GEBIROL 

BEN   YEHUDAH   IBN    GEBIROL    prayed 
this  prayer: 

Master  of  many  mysteries,  him  they  named 
The  Keeper  of  the  Kabbalah,  and  all 
The  Secret  Writing  of  the  Law;   who  spoke 
With  the  vast  djinns  confederate  about 
The  ivory  throne  of  Solomon  the  King 

7  97 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Unseen  in  the  prodigious  splendor  there  ; 
Who  with  his  finger  drew  the  awful  lines, 
The  spheral  ways,  down  which  archangels  run 
Upon  their  mighty  errands. 

Such  strange  things  — 

White  magic  were  they,  or  the  scathe  of  the  brain 
Long  cramped  in  midnight  poring  over  signs 
At  which  the  scorpion  from  his  cranny  gazed 
As  at  his  kindred  —  did  men  say  of  him. 
But  we,  forsooth,  we  know  not.     All  we  know 
Is  that  the  thought,  outsoaring  such  device 
As  the  great  heaven  outsoars  the  gossamer, 
Was  his  who  in  one  glory  of  white  light 
Transfused  the  many  colors  of  many  creeds 
While  uttering  this  ascription,  prayer,  and  praise : 

Thou  art  God,  he  said,  and  all  the  living  things 

Upon  this  ball  that  swings  in  hoary  space, 

Or  that  live  otherwhere,  thy  servants  are. 

And  being  God,  essence  of  excellence, 

Source  of  all  life,  soul  of  the  beautiful,  — 

O  sacred  soul  of  souls  and  life  of  life, 

O  dearer  than  the  dearness  of  delight,  — 

Felt  in  the  dewy  darks  of  dawn  before 

The    rose    flowers    out    in  heaven  ;    when    north 

winds  cry 

Where  the  white  wonder  of  the  waning  moon 
Rides   high  through  lonely    midnights  ;   when   the 

storms 

Hiss  in  the  sea,  and  hide  in  shrouded  snows ; 
Felt  in  the  starry  gulfs  through  which  the  thought 

98 


THE   PRAYER   OF  IBN  GEBIROL 


Sails  in  meridian  ;  felt  in  the  mere  joy 
Of  being  alive;   and  truly  when  Death  smiles, 
And  reaches  forth  a  strong  and  tender  hand, 
No  less  felt, —  thou  art  God,  —  and,  being  God, 
All  things  are  thy  adorers. 

In  no  wise 

Thy  majesty  is  lessened  should  they  call 
On  other  names  than  thine  —  seeming  to  adore 
Other  than  thou,  in  midst  of  blinding  light, 
Phrah  in  his  fire,  or  Om  within  his  dream, 
Or  any  precious  phantasm  that  for  them 
Holds  godhead  as  the  jewel  holds  the  spark  — 
Since  all  their  aim  entirely  is  to  come 
Nearer  to  thee,  and  only  thee,  and  lose 
Sense  —  ay,  and  self — within  the  whelming  seas 
Where  broods  thy  prime,  where  brims  thy  blessed 
ness. 

If  their  way  lead  to  Isis  with  her  lily 
Seeking  the  way  herself  through  glimmering  dark, 
'T  is  thou.      And  if  to  She'keenah,  't  is  thou. 
If  to  the  immanent  divine  in  man, 
And  if  to  the  white  Christ  upon  his  cross, 
Through  all,  and  over  all,  and  under  all, 
'Tis  thou. 

What  seek  they  but  thy  sweetness  ?  What 
But  rest  upon  thy  power,  — to  feel  in  them 
The  rushing  of  thy  life  ?     Are  they  not  thine  ? 
With  thy  clear  currents  of  immortal  joy 
Drown  out  in  them  all  that  is  less  than  thou, 
As  morning  drowns  sky-deep  the  beacon  star 
Where  with  wild  lightnings  wash  the  lucid  tides, 

99 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


Leaping  and  shoaling  when  the  day  has  laid 
His  beams  upon  the  waters. 

Near  or  far, 
Seek  they  not  God  ?   I  said.     And  thou  art  God  ! 

Thus,  in  the  dark  hot  Spanish  night  long  since, 
While  the  white  moth  about  his  candle  flew 
And  fluttered  out  into  the  larger  light 
Where  the  red  moon  rose  in  the  gap  of  the  hills, 
Ben  Yehudah  Ibn  Gebirol  paused  a  space, 
As  point  by  point  he  glossed  the  mystery 
Within  the  ten  Sephiroth,  murmuring 
The  moving  music  of  this  joyous  cry. 


THE   WANDERERS 

ALL  in  the  middle  night,  across  the  crystal 
hollow  of  the  dark, 
Before    the   black    pines'    tempest-torn    gigantic 

glooms  remembered  morn, 
Heard    I,    indeed,    strange    music    toss    and    beat 

about  the  winds  ?  And,  hark, 
Were  there   no   sweet  and  piercing  cries,   was 
there  no  echo  of  a  horn  ? 


For  what  a  glorious  company  hung  out  of  heaven 

before  me  there, 

As,  leaning  forth,  along  the  height  I  caught  the 
glitter  of  their  flight  ! 
100 


THE   WANDERERS 


From  depths  of  termless  mystery  what  shapes  were 

these  trooped  down  the  air 
Shooting    white    fire    abroad,    and    clear   their 
splendor  streaming  on  the  night  ? 

His  casque  whose  ruby  led  the  field  was  it  then 

Mars  that  swept  and  gazed  ? 
In  gleaming  gauzes  veiled  about  were  these  the 

Pleiades  looked  out  ? 
On  corselet,  belt,  and  sword,  and  shield,  Orion's 

breathing  diamonds  blazed  ? 
White   and  majestic,   Sirius   followed  upon  the 
mighty  rout  ? 

And  slowly  out  of  dusky  space,  one,  stately,  coming 

from  afar, 
The  fulness  of  some  golden   chord  marking  the 

measure  of  his  ward, 
The  whole   of  heaven  upon  his  face,   was  it  the 

bright  and  morning  star, 

Was  it  but  Lucifer  that  wore  the  lustre  of  the 
living  Lord? 

Or  were  they,  bound  in  vaster  flight,  Magnificent 

Existences, 
For  firmaments  of  unknown  sky,  that  paused  a 

moment  fleeting  by 
The  dark  and  dreaming  earth  that  night  ?      I  only 

know,  beholding  these, 

Held  not  my  hand  a  Mightier  Hand,  an  atom  of 
the  dust  were  I  ! 

101 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


THE   TOURNEY 


THE  bugles  sung,  the  banners  threw 
Their  rippling  shadows  to  and  fro, 
Forward  the  knights  and  horses  dashed, 
Thundered  the  earth,  and  armor  clashed 
In  mighty  tune,  as  on  they  flew, 
As  they  flew  on  to  meet  the  foe. 
And  one  in  golden  cuisses  flashed, 
And  round  his  voice  the  echoes  pealed, 
And  with  his  visor  up  one  wheeled, 
And  splendidly  his  beauty  bloomed, 
And  one  had  roses  wet  with  dew 
About  his  crest,  and  like  the  snow 
Blown  from  some  peak  within  the  blue 
One  scarf  was  with  the  morning  plumed, 
And  Youth,  and  Love,  and  Hope,  and  Song, 
And  Joy,  and  Faith,  a  gallant  crew, 
Swift  as  the  arrow  from  the  bow, 
Unfaltering  they  swept  along 
And  cast  themselves  upon  the  foe  ! 
And  clear  they  called  and  bade  him  yield 
Who  in  his  vast,  black  silence  loomed, 
And  on  his  steadfast  strength  they  crashed 
Full  cry,  without  a  dream  of  dread, 
And  swords  were  broke,  and  bucklers  gashed 
And  lances  splintered  on  his  shield 
And  spun  like  sleet,  and  riders  reeled, 
And  fetlock-deep  in  blood  they  plashed, 
And  Youth  went  down,  and  no  hand  steeled 

IO2 


THE   TOURNEY 


The  heart  of  Hope,  and  no  hand  healed 
His  mortal  hurt,  and  Love  was  dead, 
And  Song  was  fallen,  and  Faith  had  fled, 
And  Death  was  master  of  the  field  ! 


II 

THEN  Death  his  helmet  laid  aside, 
And  with  imperial  lustre  shined 
The  countenance  but  half-divined. 
I  had  no  quarrel  with  their  pride,  — 
They  were  so  beautiful,  he  sighed. 
They  would  not  have  me  to  their  friend, 
Poor  fools,  or  they  had  never  died  ! 
Poor  children  of  the  dark,  and  blind, 
Who  could  not  guess  the  smile  I  hide, 
Nor  borrow  of  the  strength  I  lend. 
Had  they  struck  hands  with  me,  in  truth, 
Love  had  immortal  been,  and  Youth. 
And  Faith  should  still  the  stars  ascend 
To  farther  stars.      And  tenting  there 
The  skies  had  bent  round  Joy.     Alas, 
With  their  own  brand  they  laid  them  low! 
Now  they  are  ashes,  let  them  go 
On  that  light  wind  shall  chance  to  pass 
Where  they  lie  trodden  in  the  grass. 
They  were  a  feeble  folk,  forsooth  ! 
Forget  they  ever  were  so  fair, 
Forget  they  breathed  the  lightsome  air, 
And  let  my  wailing  trumpets  blow 
It  was  not  Death  that  was  their  foe  ! 

103 


IN   TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


O    MUSIC 

LAST  night  I  heard  a  harper  strike  his  strings 
all  suddenly  and  sweetly, 

And  one  sang  with  him  in  a  voice  blown  like  a 
flute  upon  the  dark, 

And  as  a  bird's  wings  climb  the  air,  forever  palpi 
tating  fleetly, 

The  song  soared,  and  I  followed  it,  lost  where  the 
panting  echoes  hark. 

The  song  soared  like  a  living  soul  in  naked  beauty 
white  and  stark, 

Commanding  all  the  powers  of  tune  with  solemn 
spells  of  subtle  might, 

A  flute,  a  bird,  a  living  soul,  the  song  swept  by 
me  in  the  night  ! 


Commanding  all  the  powers  of  tune,  commanding 

all  the  powers  of  being, 
While  on   the  borderland  of  sleep   half  lapped  in 

dreams  my  senses  stirred, 
Heaven   after   heaven  the   strain   laid   bare,    sweet 

secret  after  secret  freeing, 
And  all  the  deeps  of  music  broke  about  my  spirit 

as  I  heard. 
And  past  and  present  were  as  naught  within  that 

trance  of  rapture  blurred, 
And  heights  where  white  light  seethed,  and  depths 

night-blue  and  full  of  singing  stars, 
Were  mine  to  tread  the  while  that  tune  beat  out 

the  passion  of  its  bars  ! 

104 


O   MUSIC 


Then  I  remembered  me  of  Saul,  the  young  man 

mighty  and  victorious, 
While  towering  dark  and  beautiful  anointed  on  the 

roadside  king, 
And  over  him  a  fuller  chrism  streamed  sempiter- 

nally  and  glorious, 
The  dew  of  dawn,  the  flush  of  day,  that  morning 

of  an  ancient  spring. 
And  faring  silent  on  his  way,  he  lifted  not  his  voice 

to  sing, 
He  saw  no  glow  upon  the  hills,  upon  the  sky  he 

saw  no  bloom, 
Earth  was  the  same  old  earth   to  him  wrapped  in 

the  mantle  of  his  gloom. 


But  when   he  met   along   the   hill  a   company   of 

prophets  hasting, 
Striking  psaltery,  harp,  and    tabret,  and  the  pipe's 

breath  blowing  clear, 
When  singing  all  at  once  they  came,  in  wild  accord 

their  music  wasting, 
The  mountain  answering  tune  for  tune  with  mystic 

voices  hovering  near, 
With   sweet   rude   clamor    storming   heaven,    with 

faces  rapt  in  holy  fear, 
Singing  of  smoke  of  sacrifice  from  altars  on  the  hills 

and  scars, 
Singing  of  power  that  bends  the  blue,  that  holds 

the  leashes  of  the  stars,  — 

105 


IN   TITIAN'S    GARDEN 


Then  as  the  measures  round  him  beat  and  left  him 

thrilling  to  their  gladness, 
A  flame  swept  up  and  compassed  him  and  burned 

the  withes  that  bound  his  might, 
And  all  his  strength,  to  music  set  in  a  swift  and 

sacred  madness, 

Broke  at  his  lips  in  prophecy  and  filled  his  dark 
ened  soul  with  light. 
For  thine,  O  Music !  child  of  God,  the  wings  that 

lift  to  awful  height  ; 
The  order   of  the  universe  is  thine,  and  thine  the 

flight  of  stars, 
And   the  soul   treads   its  kingly  home   but   to   the 

passion  of  thy  bars  ! 

WHEN    FIRST    YOU   WENT 

WHEN  first  you  went,  O  desert  was  the  day, 
The  lonely  day,  and  desert  was  the  night, 
And  alien  was  the  power  that  robbed  from  me 
The  white  and  starlike  beauty  of  your  face, 
The  white  and  starlike  splendor  of  your  soul  ! 
Since  you  were  all  of  life,  I,  too,  had  died, 
Died,  not  as  you  into  the  larger  life, 
But  into  nothingness,  had  not  the  thought 
Of  your  bright  being  led  outward,  as  a  beam 
Piercing  the  labyrinthine  gloom  shows  light 
Somewhere  existing. 

Like  a  golden  lure 

Bringing  me  to  the  open  was  the  thought,  — 
For  since  I  loved  you  still,  you  still  must  be, 
1 06 


WHEN   FIRST   YOU   WENT 


And  where  you  were  there  I  must  follow  you. 
And  follow,  follow,  follow,  cried  the  winds, 
And  follow,  follow,  murmured  all  the  tides, 
And  follow,  sang  the  stars  that  wove  the  web 
Of  their  white  orbits  far  in  shining  space 
Where  Sirius  with  his  dark  companion  went. 
Bound  in  the  bands  of  Law  they  ranged  the  deep  ; 
And  Law,  I  said,  means  Will  to  utter  Law; 
And  Will  means  One,  indeed,  to  have  the  Will. 
And  having  found  that  One  shall  it  not  be 
The  One  Supreme  of  all,  whose  power  I  prove, 
Whose  inconceivable  intelligence 
Faintly  divine,  and  who  perforce  must  dwell 
Compact  of  love  the  most  supreme  of  all  ? 
Had  I  found  God  and  should  I  not  find  you  ? 

That  love  supreme  will  never  mock  my  search. 

That  thought  accordant  in  the  infinite 

The  great  flame  of  your  spirit  will  not  quench. 

That  power  embattled  through  the  universe 

Needs  in  all  firmaments  your  panoply 

Of  stainless  purity,  of  crystal  truth, 

Your  sympathy  that  melts  into  the  pang, 

Your  blazing  wrath  with  wrong,  your  tenderness 

To  every  small  or  suffering  thing,  as  sweet 

As  purple  twilight  touching  throbbing  eyes, 

Your  answer  to  great  music  when  it  breathes 

Silver  and  secret  speech  from  sphere  to  sphere, 

Your  thrill  before  the  beauty  of  the  earth, 

Your  passion  for  the  sorrow  of  the  race  ! 

You  who  in  the  grey  waste  of  night  awoke 

107 


IN  TITIAN'S   GARDEN 


When  clashing  mill-bells  frolicking  in  air 
Called  up  the  day,  and  sounded  in  your  ear 
Clank  of  enormous  fetters  that  have  bound 
Labor  in  all  lands ;  you  whose  pity  went 
Out  on  the  long  swell  where  the  fisherman 
Slides  with  his  shining  boat-load  in  the  dark; 
You  whom  the  versed  in  state-craft  paused  to  hear, 
The  sullen  prisoner  blest,  the  old  man  loved, 
The  little  children  ran  along  beside ; 
You  who  to  women  were  the  Knight  of  God. 
Therefore  as  God  lives,  so  I  know  do  you. 

And  with  that  knowledge  comes  a  keener  joy 

Than  blushing,  beating,  folds  young  love  about. 

Again  the  sky  burns  azure,  and  the  stars 

Lean  from  their  depths  to  tell  me  of  your  state. 

Again  the  sea-line  meets  the  line  divine, 

And  the  surge  shatters  in  wide  melody; 

The  half-guessed  hues  that  the  heart  swells  to  note 

Haunting  the  rainbow's  edges  lead  me  on  ; 

And  all  the  dropping  dews  of  summer  nights 

Keep  measure  with  the  music  in  my  heart. 

And  still  I  climb  where  you  have  gone  before, 

Unchallenged  spirit  who  enclosed  my  days 

As  in  a  jewel,  walled  about  with  light  ! 

And  far,  far  off,  I  seem  to  see  you  go 

Familiar  of  unknown  immensity, 

And  pass,  enlarged  to  all  the  rosy  vast, 

And  boon  companion  of  the  dawn  in  heaven. 


1 08 


THE  FIRST  EDITION  OF  THIS  BOOK 
CONSISTS  OF  FIVE  HUNDRED  COPIES 
PRINTED  BY  JOHN  WILSON  AND 
SON,  AT  THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
CAMBRIDGE  MASSACHUSETTS  DUR 
ING  MAY  M  DCCC  XCVII 


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